


Mr and Mrs Jones

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Beating, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, Colleagues to Friends, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Gun Violence, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Phil Coulson's Team, Protective Phil Coulson, Reconciliation, Rope Bondage, Secret love, Secrets, Serious Injuries, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Sub Clint Barton, Torture, True Love, Undercover, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 67
Words: 128,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: On her first real field mission with SHIELD, the reader is paired up with the renowned Clint Barton last minute for a year long undercover mission. With anyone else the mission would be easy but from the first second that they meet the reader knows Clint will be a much harder deal. As the weeks pass, though, and they get to know each other more, the reader begins to wonder whether maybe being “married” to Clint isn’t such a bad job after all.Prepare for tropes galore; fake marriage, the slowest of burns, bad communication, bed sharing, you name it and it will probably be there. This story will run in “real time” for an entire year, following the characters as they navigate the messiness that is being married and eventually falling in love (featuring the inevitable angst and Clint Barton written hopefully as the true disaster he really is).





	1. September 5th

"You’re not Natasha.“

Not even bothering to look around the body of the car towards where he was hovering, you kept your attention of piling all the equipment into the deceptively small space at the back of the car. You kept your tone polite but it was clear to you both that there were many other places that you’d rather be than with him. "That is very observant of you, Agent Barton.”

"Where is she?“

"None of my business,” you shrugged, somehow managing to wiggle a 10cm box into an 8cm space. “All I was told was that Agent Romanoff had been pulled to run a different mission and that I was to take her place on this. If you have an issue with that go and speak to someone higher up. But, seeing as we are supposed to be leaving in ten minutes, I suspect that they won’t be able to do much now.”

You knew for a fact that if Clint actually did go to Fury and complain about being on this mission with him that SHIELD would find him an alternative, even given the tight timeframe. He was a well respected agent with a far longer service record than you. In some departments, he was even called a legend - although that reputation was rooted in some of his frankly more stupid behaviour that accidently resulted in heroics rather than any genuinely planned wonders. They’d bend over backwards to make him happy.

You, on the other hand, were little more than a common agent who had, at least as of yet, amounted to very little within SHIELD. Being chosen for this mission was without doubt the highlight of your career, an honour for which you had had to beg. And beg. And beg. You’d traded in every favour you’d collected over the years and had all but signed a contract in blood to get Fury to sanction you for the field. So there was no way on this Earth that you were going to let Clint Barton take that away from you.

Having finished packing your things into the car, you finally looked his way. Considering the tall tales that you had heard about him - after all, everyone knew about his and Agent Romanoff’s mission to Budapest - you were almost disappointed with what you saw. He lounged against the wall in a pair of dirty jeans and a t-shirt that looked like it was many years past its best. His gaze was locked on the phone in his hand and, judging by the way that his thumbs were gracing over the screen, he was too busy playing games to prepare for the mission.

Coughing for his attention, you asked, “Have you got anything else that needs packing into the car, Agent?”

"No. Why would I?“

"You don’t have any bags of your own? None at all?”

"Have you packed my bow and arrows?“ You nodded. "In that case, I don’t need anything else.”

"Do you already have clothes at the house, then?“

"What house?”

You stared at each other for a few moments, trying to work out if you were actually having the same conversation. Shutting the boot of the car with a little more force than was perhaps required, you said slowly, “For the mission. You did even read the briefing?”

"That’s normally Nat’s job. She fills me in on anything important as we travel.“

"Get in the car, Barton,” you groaned, suddenly wondering if it was too late to back out yourself. Not trusting him to open the door let alone drive the vehicle, you hopped into the driver’s seat and started up the car. Clint had barely managed to put on his seatbelt by the time you were pulling out of the complex.

Occasionally looking over at him to check that he was actually still awake, you wondered how Clint could possibly be any kind of functional person. Somehow, he’d propped himself at a very strange angle, one leg curled up against his chest while the other was stretched out onto the dashboard. To anyone else, that kind of contortionism would have been a form of inhumane torture and yet he seemed more comfortable than ever.

You drove along the highway in a tremendously awkward silence, the gentle hum of the air conditioning the only sound, until Clint asked, “So, you gonna tell me about the mission then? Or am I winging it?”

"You seriously didn’t read the files? Unbelievable.“

"What’s it matter?” Clint pushed himself against the window, curling his legs under him and stretching the seatbelt so he could turn to face you directly. It was a little unnerving, to be honest, so you kept your eyes directly on the car in front of you and refused to meet his gaze. “The instructions never change; We go in, gather some information and then blow shit up. I can’t see this being any different. It’ll be fun.”

Resisting the urge to bang your head against the steering wheel, you took a deep breath and mumbled, “It’s gonna be a long year.”

Clint scoffed at your disdain, clearly feeling proud of himself for breaking you so early into your first real field mission, when your words suddenly appeared to register in his brain. “Year? What’s this about a year?”

“You and me. Undercover. For up to a year. Gathering intel on The Syndicate. Not that difficult to understand, Barton.“

"Who the hell are The Syndicate and why are we heading into _suburbia_?” Clint spat the world as if it were a person affront. To be honest, you had been surprised when Fury told you that you’d be gathering information in a tight knit suburban estate but your new partner seemed genuinely horrified at the prospect of spending more than five minutes in the area.

"Have you been living under a rock for the last few months? The Syndicate are one of the major drug cartels in the country. They started out with a the basics - you know, marijuana and a little cocaine here and there - but now have a monopoly on pretty much this entire part of the country. SHIELD is worried that they’re expanding into weaponry and with their network and resources they could potentially become…“

Waving his hand to stop you from talking, he said, "Yeah, alright. I get that but it doesn’t explain why we’re spending a year in _fucking suburbia._ ”

"Aaron and Claudia Cutterman. That’s why.“ Your supposed explanation was met with a blank stare so you elaborated further what he should have already known, if only he’d actually read the information that SHIELD had provided weeks ago. "They’re suspected to be involved with The Syndicate, at a very high level. Aaron holds over half the shares in all the companies that they are using to launder their money - which we know is happening but can’t prove because they’re too careful - and Claudia’s brother works with a weapons manufacturer so it’s highly likely that he’s the contact their using for the weapons.”

"So they’re in charge of this group?“

"Near enough. We’re supposed to befriend them and find out exactly what the here is going on.”

Clint nodded, mulling over this new information, before perking up and saying, “See, wasn’t that easier than me reading the file? You just told me everything I needed to know and I got to sleep instead of paging through a pile of paper as thick as my arm. You know, I think maybe you and I could get on after all.”

"Well, we don’t have all that much of a choice. We have to get on pretty well as we’re supposed to have been recently married. The newlywed Mr and Mrs Jones.“

You’d never seen someone choke on air before and it was actually quite amusing to see the infamous Clint Barton thrown so off guard. He straightened up in his seat and stared at you, waiting to hear the punch line of a joke that never came. "God, you’re serious.”

Taking one hand off the wheel, you pulled a small fabric bag from the inside pocket of your jacket and passed it over to him. Clint emptied the contents into the palm of his hand and stared at the two simply gold bands like they were about to grow teeth and bite his fingers off. Shaking his head, he slipped one of the rings on to his finger only for it to get stuck about half way.

You glanced over when you heard him grunting and rolled your eyes. “That one is mine, you idiot.”

"How was I supposed to know? Your fingers’ around about the same size as mine, aren’t they?“ Clint twisted the ring angrily, trying to wriggle it off. Putting his full strength into removing it from his person, he succeeded but elbowed you right in the chest as he did.

He immediately stretched his hand out to check that you were alright, squeezing your breast before regaining his senses and pulling his arm away as quickly as humanly possible. Sliding on his ring and handing yours over, Clint sat on his hand and mumbled, "Fuck. Sorry about that. You alright?”

"Forget about it. Look, if we’re going to be sharing a house together for the next year we’re gonna need some ground rules.“

"Only real coffee,” Clint said immediately, nodding his head in agreement with his own suggestion. “I don’t drink that awful stuff without caffeine.”

"That’s not quite what I was thinking of… I meant sleeping arrangements. Bathroom schedules. Things like that.“

"Is our entire marriage going to be like this? You trying to control everything I do?” he asked. You couldn’t be sure as your concentration was firmly on the road ahead but you were fairly certain that he was mocking you. Clint grumbled something inaudible under his breath before sighing, “Fine. Let’s talk about your rules.”

"Our rules,“ you corrected. You weren’t trying to be a control freak about it but this was your first real field mission and you didn’t want it to be ruined by something that could have been dealt with earlier, if you’d only communicated at the start. "So us sleeping together…”

"At least take a guy out on a date first.“

You narrowed your eyes before countering, "It’s you that already tried to cop a feel.”

"Whatever. We’re married, remember?“ Clint wiggled his fingers playfully, although you noticed that he was still staring at the ring like it was some kind of shackle he’d never escape. "Doesn’t count if we’re married.”

"It totally counts, even if we are ‘married’. Rule one: don’t touch one another unless express permission has been given. I’ll respect your boundaries and I expect you to respect mine too. I don’t care what the circumstances are. I don’t like to have random 'affection’ thrown on me without warning. Alright?“

Clint nodded, recognising this as a point of non discussion even if he didn’t quite understand why you were so insistent on it. It wasn’t his place to ask - especially since he’d known you for less than a few hours - and he also didn’t really care. "Fair enough. Didn’t mean to touch a nerve. Sleeping together is out of the question, then?”

"If we’re just sleeping, I don’t care. As long as the bed is big enough to share without getting in each other’s space then we’ll just deal with it since I suspect sleeping in separate rooms might attract attention.“

"Who’s gonna care that you’d be sleeping on the sofa? No one is going to know.”

"First off, if anyone is taking the sofa, it’s you. Not me. And secondly, it’s suburbia, Clint. Where we’re going is a rich, upper class haven. Everyone knows everything about their neighbours. Secrets and gossip are currency and a newly married couple sleeping in separate rooms is going to be worth a lot.“

Amusement slipping back into his features, he asked, "Paranoid much?”

"A little bit, yeah. I don’t want this mission to fail. I’ve got a lot riding on it, okay?“

The rest of the journey went by surprisingly quickly, mostly spent arguing over the rules of your marriage. Pretty much everything was covered from who was in charge of the laundry, division of chores on a cleaning rota, what foods were an absolute no and which TV programmes had priority. By the time you reached your new home, you and Clint had almost reached a complete understanding.

Standing on the porch to your house, having spent far too long fiddling in the dark to get the key into the lock, you pushed open the door and took a deep breath. This was it. The start of what could either turn out to be a year of simply observation and a mission well done or an absolute year of here and hatred towards your new mission partner.

As you stepped in to the house you sincerely hoped for the former but, as Clint barged past you carrying his bows and arrows - the only thing he’d thought of bringing with him - and almost poked your eye out, you feared that the latter was far more likely.


	2. September 12th

“I’m so sorry to intrude but I just had to meet you for myself! No-one has seen you or your husband outside and I couldn’t have you thinking that we were ignoring you. Of course, we’d never do that. So, here I am to say hello. Well, I must say. What a… lovely home you have.”

Not even giving you the chance to close the door in her face, the blonde woman stepped into your new home and began judging everything from the decour to the boxes of half eaten pizzas that were lay strewn across the floor. Your belongings (a whole host of badly photoshopped wedding images of you and Clint, pots and pans that were definitely cheap knockoffs and all of your supposedly designer clothes) had only arrived yesterday from SHIELD headquaters, so you had been living on takeout for the last few days.

The woman made a disdainful face as she shoved a pile of Clint’s _personal_ magazines off of the sofa, letting out an almost disappointed sigh as she sat down.

“Uh, can I get you something to drink?” you asked, pushing the door shut while your intruder made herself comfortable. “We haven’t really got much in yet - still unpacking, obviously - but I think I’ve got a bottle of red somewhere.”

“I prefer white but red will do,” she said, holding out her hand expectantly for the wine glass you had promised mere seconds ago. It took you a whole 2 minutes and 43 seconds to find the bottle and glasses, open it up and pour it out; you know because you counted every painful second she spent silently judging you.

Taking a sip of wine, the woman nodded in approval. At least you’d managed to do something right, clearly. Flashing you a bright smile, she said, “Oh, I almost forgot! I’m Claudia Cutterman. I live in the house - well, some people call it a mansion but it’s not _that_ big - at the end of the road with my husband, Aaron.”

You’d seen pictures of Claudia in the mission files but they did little justice to the woman sat before you. It was almost with regality that she held herself, her back straight, her smile fixed, her gaze looking down upon you with an unjustified sense of greatness. Her blonde hair was perfectly placed, straightened and curled for hours to make it look so “naturally” voluminous. 

Claudia’s eyes were a piercing blue, so bright that you couldn’t help but wonder whether she wore contact lenses to emphasise the colour. Her skin looked absolutely flawless, like someone had photoshopped away every imperfection. You could only imagine how many layers of makeup it took for that kind of effect. Certainly more than you were ever willing to put on.

Truly, she was a work of art and that was merely her face. As you not so subtly ran your eyes over the rest of her, attention Claudia appeared to relish, you were struck once again by the sense of perfection that radiated from her. Despite being simple and stylish, everything she wore was so obviously branded the logos may well have been plastered across her rather incredible chest. 

“They’re great, aren’t they?” she smiled, sticking her chest out even further. “If you need a guy, mine’s very friendly. You can have a feel if you like. Aaron says you can’t tell they aren’t real at all.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. Really, I don’t… Well, okay then,” you laughed when she grabbed your wrist and pulled it to her boobs. As strange a meeting as this was turning out to be, you had to admit that her husband was right. Claudia’s surgeon had done a brilliant job.

“Good thing I turned up now, hey. Wouldn’t wanna miss a party like this,” Clint said, smirking at you as he dumped a few bags of shopping on the floor by the door. You glared at him to take them into the kitchen - literally only a few steps away from where he’d dropped the bags and almost certainly broken the eggs - but he just shrugged.

Perching himself on the sofa arm beside Claudia, he asked with complete earnest, “Can I have a feel too? Y/N’s been thinking about getting some work done but I’m worried that it just won’t be the same.”

Claudia was quick to oblige, more than happy to discuss the procedure with him in the most incredible detail. Barely noticing the way you were staring Clint down, she turned to you and said, “And don’t you worry, hun. It’s just a little nip and tuck and you feel no pain at all. Honestly, I think since getting them done, to be truthfully honest, my sex life has been so much better. It’s definitely worth the investment.”

You smiled back at her, mumbling something about how you’d have to give it a little more thought before you committed but thanking her for her advice nonetheless. Desperate to escape this insanity, you rose to your feet and said apologetically, “I’m so sorry, Claudia, but we’re going out to dinner with my brother in an hour and I need to get ready.”

“Are we?” Clint asked, physically pained to tear his gaze away from Claudia’s ample bosom for a moment.

“Yes, dear, we are.”

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Claudia exclaimed, setting her empty glass on the only clear spot on your glass coffee table. Her perfectly manicured fingers tidying up the loose pieces of hair around her face, she turned towards the door and waited for you to escort her out. It took you a second to get the hint but when you did you practically jumped across the table at the chance of having her leave your house.

Lingering in the doorway, Claudia suddenly gripped you by the arms and pulled you in to a tight hug. She towered over you in her six inch heels but somehow managed to make you feel like you were on exactly the same level as her. “I’m so happy to have met you, darling. I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone else. We’re having a little get together next week, you and your handsome hubby are more than welcome to come along!”

Sensing that this was not an invitation to turn down, you graciously agreed to attend. “Of course, we’d love to. What’s the dress code?”

“It’s dreadfully casual, I’m afraid. Cocktail dresses for we ladies and suits for the men. I know you’re new here, so I’ll send over the details of this amazing hairdresser in town. You must have been so stressed in the move and missed your last appointment but don’t worry; Ricardo has magical hands.”

“Very casual,” you agreed, wondering what kind of people these must be to think such things were “normal” clothes. “And thanks; I _did_ miss my last appointment.”

Suddenly appearing behind you, Clint rested his hand on the wall and leant into your personal space just far enough to make it look intimate but without actually breaking your rules of consented physical contact. “That’s such a shame the guys have to wear suits. I was really looking forward to getting my legs out in a slinkly little black dress.”

“Well, maybe next time,” Claudia smiled tightly, unable to tell whether or not he was joking. Blinking a few times, probably mentally scarred by the image of Clint in a cocktail dress, she said to you, “I’ll see you soon, Y/N. If you need any help unpacking or redecorating you just come find me, okay? This is a big house. You definitely don’t want the pressure of doing it all yourself.”

“You’re so right,” you said, inching the door shut in the hope that you could bring about the end of this conversation a little sooner. “I know where to find you; I certainly can’t miss your mansion. Sorry, I remember. Extended house, not a mansion. Thanks again for dropping in, Claudia. Bye, now.”

When you finally managed to get her to leave, you slumped against the door and let out a deep sigh. The reality of this mission was starting to hit you; for a year, you’d have to deal with that sort of inane chatter. It was a dim prospect indeed, certainly not helped by Clint’s sarky comments.

Still, you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Catching your partner’s confused glare, you said, “I just groped a stranger and let her insult every single part of my life. It might be a shock to you, but that sort of thing doesn’t happen to me every day.”

“Happens to me far more often than you’d believe.”

“Oh, no. I believe _that._ Can you take the groceries and put them away, please? I need to lie down.”

“I thought we were going out to dinner with your brother.”

“I don’t have a brother, Clint. I just needed an excuse to get her to go. Now, _please._ Groceries. Kitchen. Thank you.”


	3. September 19th

“Are you actually capable of doing anything by yourself?” you asked, wafting away the smoke that now filled the living room. You’d left the room for five minutes to get into your dress for the evening and come back down to see Clint frantically waving an iron around, cursing about how his shirt was on fire. Again.

Pulling the iron cord from the socket was your first point of call, then quickly requisitioning it from Clint before he did any real damage to either you or the furniture. You placed the steaming iron in the kitchen away from him for the time being and lifted his shirt up to the light. Clint gave you a little wave through the enormous hole in the middle.

“You are a such a child,” you groaned, tossing him the ruined shirt and running up stairs to grab him something else to wear. A few seconds later you were sliding down the banister with a selection of three shirts for him to choose from. “You’ve got white, blue or purple.”

“Purple,” he decided instantly. You handed that shirt over, blinking in surprise when he started stripping down in front of you to put it on. You knew you should turn around or at least stop staring so overtly but damn. You’d never realised just how ripped Clint was and now you couldn’t pull your gaze away from those chiseled muscles that were just begging to be touched…

Clicking his fingers from the other side of the room to get your attention, Clint grumbled, “Earth to Y/N. Are you ready?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yes. I’m good,” you said, wondering when your mouth had gotten so dry. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You don’t get to complain about this. Not when it was your idea to go in the first place.”

“It’s a good opportunity to get to know the Cuttermans and meet their friends. You have no idea what the others in their circle might know.”

About half way down the road, Clint stopped suddenly and grabbed your arm. It caught you off surprise and you wobbled on your heels, almost falling in to him and having to steady yourself on his shoulder. He helped you back up straight, pulling his hand from your back the instant you were steady.

Cutting you off before you had the chance to yell at him, Clint said with a surprising seriousness, “Don’t do anything stupid tonight, Y/N. Under no circumstances are you to try digging for information. We’ve only been here a few weeks and can’t afford for them to get suspicious. Just keep it chilled, enjoy the wine and try to remember a few names. That’s it. Got it?”

“Yeah, I get it,” you said, a little angrily. You weren’t stupid. You knew that this was a long term surveillance job and not an information raid. You’d been in SHIELD long enough to know the protocol, even if this was the first time you were actually putting it into practise. “I’ve got too much riding on this to have it go wrong so early.”

“Okay. Good. As long as we’re on the same page. Now, you gonna let me hold your hand or what? That’s the kind of ditzy shit that newly married couples do, right?”

You rolled your eyes, stretching out your hand for him to take. “You’re such a romantic.”

“A real catch, I know.”

You’d barely stepped foot into the Cuttermans’ home before you and Clint were whisked apart; Claudia pulled you into the lounge to meet her girlfriends which Clint was escorted to the study to join the other men. You’d expected these women to be nothing more than trophy wives but, while some were nothing more than a bit of eye candy for their incredibly rich husbands, a few were genuinely interesting.

They told you all about their charity committee for the area and some of the projects they were working on this year. Most of them were about saving the environment or donating to “worthy” causes to get talented children out of dodgy areas and give them a chance to flourish. It was all very dramatic and the impact of their work clearly being oversold but it was nice to know that at least a few of the women here had some kind of conscience and were smart enough to hold a real conversation about issues other than what was the best brand of mascara to wear when skiing (yes, that did really come up).

You weren’t sure how long it was since you’d arrived that the men rejoined the women in the lounge but you were glad to have some new partners for conversation. Unfortunately, one of the major problems with rich, middle - upper class men is that they only want to talk about themselves, so they became a bore even faster than the ladies of the group had.

Everyone except Aaron Cutterman, that was.

You’d been enjoying a moment’s peace at the side of the room, watching and carefully taking mental notes of who talked to who. It was a little difficult to keep up with since you had had more than your fair share of wine but you had always enjoyed people watching as a hobby so it wasn’t the worst. It was certainly better than listening to another blonde bimbo spill all the details about her latest liposuction.

Aaron had come over to you, introducing himself with a bright smile. He looked you over from head to toe, more admiringly than in a creepy kind of way. Focusing back on your face, he said, “Claudia was right; you certainly are a beautiful woman.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, a warmth spreading over your face. As Aaron looked you over again, you returned the favour and took a proper look at him. You could tell that he was well built from the way his shirt strained over his muscles, the buttons dangerously close to bursting open. He wasn’t as muscled as Clint but for an average man he definitely took care of himself.

His beard was neatly trimmed, barely more than a little stubble really, and his dark hair (definitely dyed at the roots to hide the early onset of grey which came with high stress jobs) was carefully styled to look messy in a way that reminded you scarily of Tony Stark. Even with that comparison in mind, you couldn’t help think that Aaron was quite the attractive man.

“Tell me,” Aaron said, standing beside you with his back to the wall. “What do you think of the neighbourhood so far?”

“Everyone has been very welcoming,” you replied automatically, making the man laugh. Rolling your eyes, you answered truthfully, “It’s not quite what Clint and I are used to but I’m sure we’ll settle in. There’s a lot of work to be done around our house and still a lot of ties with our old lives that need sorting but we’ll get there.”

“If you ever need something, you just let me or Claud know. We’re more than happy to help with _anything_.”

“What was that about?” Clint asked, walking over to you when Aaron stepped away. He slipped his hand under your elbow and guided you over to the empty sofa, where everyone else was beginning to congregate.

The way Aaron had winked at you made you wonder exactly what kind of services he and Claudia were really willing to offer, a train of thought you were not yet willing to share with Clint. That seemed like a disaster in the making, putting that kind of offer on the table with Barton nearby, so you simply shrugged and said, “He was just saying hello.”

Soon enough, conversation around the table turned to you and Clint. Claudia started off the round of questioning with a very simple, “How did you two meet?” After that, the questions slowly became more and more personal and the only reason you were willing to answer them was because, by that point, you’d consumed your entire weight’s worth of wine.

“That’s a real pretty diamond,” Julia, one of Claudia’s friends, said. She reached over and admired your engagement ring, pouting about how it was bigger than the one her husband had given her. “Tell us about how he proposed?”

After a whole evening of lying, your mind suddenly went blank. “Oh, you know…” you said, stalling - badly - for time. “It was… Uh…”

“We went sailing for the weekend,” Clint cut in, throwing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you against his chest. You twisted round to ask what the hell he was doing but the glare he shot back was enough to stop you from saying anything else.

Everyone was staring at you now so you forced yourself to relax into the embrace, finding his hand and tangling your fingers together, all the time wishing to be somewhere else. “Yeah, it pissed down with rain all weekend. Weeks of glorious sun and then the few days we manage to get away it pours down. Typical.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Clint said, drawing random patterns along your arm as he spoke. You weren’t convinced that he actually knew he was doing it which made you a little more comfortable with the action, to be honest. “We were on the boat, a good distance out. The sun was setting, the sea was calm. It was beautiful. I can’t wait for shit but she - Y/N, I mean - is the best sailor I’ve ever met.”

You watched as Clint’s expression became wistful and far away, realising that this was indeed something that had happened to him. It felt wrong to have him share something so clearly private but the entire party was enraptured by his story. Even you were happy to be swept along in the fairytale and listened intently as he continued.

“She stood there against the sunset looking like an angel come down from heaven itself. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. She was a true vision. I knew then that there was no one else I wanted to spend my life with. I whipped out the box, got down on one knee and asked the question there and then. In my haste to open the box, I dropped it overboard and had to dive in to the ocean to get it back.”

Playing with the ring on his finger, his lips turned upwards in a tight smile. “I clambered back on board, soaking wet and without a ring, to find her on her knee and proposing to me instead. Who’d have thought that after all this time I’d be sat here.”

Everyone laughed except you. They were satisfied with his story but it just made you sad. You had no way of knowing exactly what had happened in the time that followed those events but it obviously hadn’t ended well or Clint would be at home with his real wife and not here with you.

The rest of the evening passed in an alcohol induced blur and you somehow ended up back home without actually being able to remember the walk back. Clint had his arm around your waist, helping you to stumble through the door without falling flat on your face, but the second that you were inside he pulled away and left you to your own devices.

“That was a beautiful story, Clint,” you mumbled, fumbling with the buckles on your shoes in the dim light. “Almost made me think it had happened to us.”

“Yeah, well. It didn’t. And no. I don’t wanna talk about it. Don’t drink so much, next time. You could barely keep your stories straight and I’m gonna have to write them all down to remember all the crap you said tonight.”

“I tried my best, alright?” you said, clawing your way up the stairs to the bedroom. Struggling to pull your dress over your head, stumbling into the wardrobe as you battled with the tight fabric. “Some husband you are, not even helping his wife get undressed.”

“Try harder next time. And how’s this for good husbanding: You can have the floor tonight,” he said, motioning to the pillow and blanket he’d been using the last few weeks. “I don’t wanna be woken by you throwing up all over me and I think I deserve a real night’s sleep for once, don’t you? And you’ve been hogging the bed ever since we got here so I’m taking my turn now.”

“Screw you, Barton.”

“Oh, darling. Don’t you just wish you could.”


	4. September 26th

“What are _those_?”

You looked up from the chopping board, setting the knife down to eliminate the temptation to continue cutting without looking. The last time you’d done that you’d ended up taking a trip to A&E and weren’t all that keen to repeat the experience any time soon. Tilting your head to the side, you said, “What does it look like? They’re avocados.”

“Ava-what?” Clint asked, jumping up on to the worktop and perching himself on the corner. He ignored your attempts to shoo him off the surface, claiming that the marble top was more than strong enough to handle his weight. Reaching across, he grabbed a piece of chopped avocado and sniffed it. Scrunching his face up, he said, “You expect me to eat this?”

“Grow up, Barton. It’s just a fruit. It won’t kill you. Anyway, they’re supposed to be really good for you. Claudia’s friend, Alison, gave me a recipe for fish and avocado tacos so that’s what we’re having for dinner and if you don’t like it you can make something yourself. Oh, wait. That’s right. You can’t cook to save your life.”

Turning his nose up at the fact you were trying to serve him fruit and fish together in the same dish, he exclaimed, “That’s slander and you know it! It’s a fact that I can make the best coffee cake in the state.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said, batting away his hand as he went to grab another slice of avocado. “Every time you go to make some, you end up either drinking - inhaling - all the coffee before you can put it in the cake so we just end up going round to the Cuttermans’ with a slightly sad nut cake covered in icing to hide the fact it’s been burnt to smithereens because you forgot to take it out the oven. Yeah, you’re a real pro chef.”

Unable to do little more than frown at the remarkably true accusations, Clint grumbled, “Well, I can microwave a mean pot noodle so there.”

Driven by some strange impulse to show you that he wasn’t entirely useless, Clint grabbed a few of the knives from the chopping block and began juggling with them, much to both your horror and amusement. He winked at you as he messed about, reaching out and grabbing a fourth blade to add to the mix.

“Where did you learn to do this?” you asked, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest as you watched with fascination at his effortless movements.

“Joined the circus when I was a kid,” he said, his tricks becoming more and more dangerous as the seconds passed. Spinning around, ducking beneath the knives, even catching one in his mouth, you wondered why he’d ever left. Clint clearly adored messing around like this; his eyes shone in a way you’d never seen before and the smile he wore wasn’t forced at all.

It was when he reached for the fifth blade that everything went wrong. The chopping block wasn’t where he was expecting it to be and it threw off his entire groove. Everything happened in slow motion. He stretched out his arm just a little to far and threw himself off balance, slipping on the tiles. Clint landed hard on his ass, barely having time to curl up and save himself from the knives raining down on him.

You leapt forward the moment you realised what was happening and managed to catch the biggest knife but hadn’t been fast enough to save him from the rest. Thankfully, the only real damage he sustained was one gash to the back of his hand and another on his upper thigh.

Even though it was a terrible thing to happen, you couldn’t stop from laughing as you offered him a hand up. It was more out of relief that he hadn’t been hurt worse but it also a little for the fact he’d failed so spectacularly.

“There’s a first aid kit in that cupboard. Antiseptic and plasters,” you said, nodding towards it as you slid the knives back into the wooden block. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, his good mood completely ruined. He sat in silence after that, playing on his phone as he waited for you to serve him his dinner.

It annoyed you more than you could say that he had started treating you as his own personal servant - you cleaned up after him, did all the washing, all the cooking. In fact, there was little in the house that you didn’t do save for maybe killing the occasional spider.

Deciding enough was enough, you prepared yourself a plate of food and left everything else on the side for him to sort his own meal out. It really wasn’t a difficult task. It was all cooked (perfectly, you might add) and the hardest task was pulling the fish from the bone. Aside from that, all Clint had to do was throw it in a taco shell and shove it down his throat. However, when you told him that he had to plate his own food tonight, he glared at you like you’d just resurrected his first beloved pet only to then slaughter it before his eyes.

“What?” you asked, taking a bite of the fish taco and letting out an almost sinful moan. It tasted incredible, if you did say so yourself. You would definitely have to thank Alison for the recipe the next time you saw her.

Your blissful mood was quickly shattered by Clint’s impatient tapping on the countertop. Shaking your head, you said, “I will not be your trophy wife, catering to your every whim, Clint. Look after yourself for once.”

“You’re no trophy,” he bit back, practically attacking the fish as he tried to pull it free from the bones. “God help the poor bastard that ends up married to you for real. If this is the sort of crap that he’ll have to put up with, no one will blame him for screwing the secretary after office hours.”

Slamming your fork down so hard that it actually embedded itself in the smooth oak table, you hissed, “Do you have to be so rude?”

“You started it. All I wanted was to come back from a day of pretending to be shit at golf so I didn’t hurt Aaron’s rich friends’ feelings and enjoy a good meal. And now look at me! I’ve been in suburbia a month and I’m eating fucking avocado and enjoying it! I’m practically middle class!”

All the animosity in the room vanished like that, both of you bursting into hysterics at his outburst. You had noticed him quite happily picking at the slices of fruit all evening but hadn’t said anything, interested in seeing just how long it took him to notice his own behaviour. Far longer than you’d expected but the result had been just as hilarious as you’d hoped.

You rose from the table and threw together the components of the meal into something he could inhale in a few bites before rejoining him at the table. He nodded in gratitude, shovelling the taco into his mouth and reluctantly agreeing that this was indeed a great dinner.

Wiping salsa from the corner of his mouth, Clint said, “Sorry about earlier. That was out of line.”

“Yeah it was.”

“You’re supposed to say it’s fine and all is forgiven.”

“It wasn’t fine, though, was it? If it had been okay, you wouldn’t have felt the need to apologise. But I get it and I’ll let it slide this time,” you said calmly. However, your words took on a sharp edge as you warned, “But say something like that again and I’ll take those arrows you love so much and shove one so far up your ass it’ll come out your mouth. We good?”

Clint nodded, knowing you well enough know to realise that that was a perfectly legitimate threat. He’d read your file and on more than one occasion you’d almost been discharged from SHIELD for following through on your threats. “Yep. We’re good.”

“Awesome. Now, do you want to share that last taco or what?”


	5. October 3rd

“Y/N! Why is the bathroom door locked?”

“I’m having a bath!” you yelled back, wondering what on Earth had gotten in to the man. You folded the corner of your page over and rested your book on the edge of the tub, staring at the door in amusement as you watched the handle twisting. “I know your evening beauty routine takes a while but surely you can wait half hour.”

“There’s nothing wrong with moisturising,” Clint argued, momentarily forgetting the reason for his haste. A moment later, his sense of urgency returned and he started slamming his fist against the bathroom door. “Y/N, I swear, you’ve gotta let me in.”

You shouted protests back through the door, growing angrier with every second that he was interrupting your evening relaxation. Since you’d arrived in the neighbourhood, you and Clint had been none stop socialising with the Cuttermans and their friends. Tonight was the first night in weeks that you’d had truly to yourself and Clint was damned if you were going to let him ruin it.

Closing your eyes, trying your best to block out his sorry excuses, you turned up your music and sunk into the warm water. It was hard to focus on the gentle warmth relaxing your muscles, slowly soothing all your aches and pains, when the biggest pain in your life was standing at the door threatening to bash it in.

“For god sake, Clint!” you hissed, ducking under the water for a moment to wet your hair before popping back up to hear him still outside the bathroom. “Can’t you hold it for ten more minutes while I wash my hair?”

“No, I bloody well can’t. I’m coming in.” 

That was the only warning you got before he kicked the door down, putting his foot through the wood entirely. It was the most ridiculous sight to see him fighting the wooden panel as he fought to free himself without scratching up his entire leg, swearing like a sailor and cursing the door for being so well made and impossible to kick down.

Sparing you only a quick glance, he ran - or more accurately hobbled - over to the toilet. About half way there he dropped his trousers down to his ankles, clearly too impatient to wait the extra second it would have taken to get in front of the toilet, and let out a deep sigh as he relieved himself. Clint then shook himself off, zipped up and washed his hands in your bath water.

All you could do was shake your head in disbelief and sigh, “You are unbelievable.”

Despite knowing exactly what you meant by that, Clint grinned and said, “I know, right?”

You closed your eyes again, expecting him to leave you to what was left of your peaceful relaxation time, but were surprised to hear no footsteps leaving. In fact, all you heard was the sound of clothes softly falling on the tiles followed by the sound of sloshing water as Clint clambered into the tub with you.

“Whoa there; what the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked, pulling your legs up to your chest. Scooping up all the bubbles around you, you tried to create some sort of barrier between you and Clint, your face burning in embarrassment. Kicking him in the shin - the force of the impact lost somewhat in the water - you hissed, “Get out!”

“You’re always complaining that I smell bad, so I’m just having a wash too! What does it matter, anyway? I kept my boxers on.” To prove the fact, he lifted his hips out the water and pinged the elastic against his skin. “See?”

“That doesn’t make it better! There’s such a thing as personal boundaries, Clint, and this is crossing the line!”

“Why don’t you just think of it as me trying to save water and help the environment. You’re in to all of that, aren’t you?”

“I… Yes, of course I am. How did you know that?” Your indignation was sidelined just long enough for your curiosity to take a hold instead. You and Clint had spoken about a lot of things over the past few weeks - it was hard to be trapped in a house with someone and not learn something about the other - but never had your (sometimes intense) views on the environment come up.

Clint just shrugged, grabbing your most expensive bar of soap and rubbing it over his chest. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, claiming that it was completely unnecessary for a person to smell like honey and lavender, even though he obviously found the smell pleasant enough. “You separate everything into recyclables. You buy the expensive organic stuff which has to come from within the state or it has too many air miles. I’ve seen you in the garden in the afternoon, planting those flowers so more bees come. You’ve even got that browser on your computer… the one that plants trees for every search.”

Smirking at your stunned silence, he said, “I’m not just a pretty face. I’m good at this job for a reason. I notice lots of little things.”

“You notice all of that and yet can’t see when there’s a red sock in the white washing.”

“That was one time!”

“Three! It has been three times! Do you know how many new shirts I have had to buy because you didn’t check to see if there were any colours in the white wash?”

“Whatever. Can I stay in the bath or are you gonna throw your husband out into the cold so he has no choice but to wash in the kitchen sink?”

The image of Clint washing in the kitchen was almost enough to put you off eating forever. You already knew that he’d once gotten up in the middle of the night and somehow managed to get lost on his way to the bathroom so had pissed in the sink. The last thing you needed was his washing his junk in there too.

“Stay,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Just don’t look.”

“I’ve seen naked women before, Y/N. It’s nothing new.”

“Well, you’ve never seen me naked and I’d quite like to keep it that way.”

“Fine,” he said. True to his word, Clint kept his gaze either on your face or out the window, where he was watching your neighbours silhouettes arguing about something or other. From just watching their body language, he somehow deduced that the argument was either about money or forgetting to feet the cat. He tried to explain the logic to you but it was so abstract and thinly put together that you just smiled and nodded, pretending to have a single clue what he was going on about.

You fell into a comfortable conversation with him, relaxing so much that you actually stretched out your legs (although you continued to hide beneath the thick layer of bubbles and a few well placed flannels). You were a little surprised when he began massaging your feet - in truth, he was a little surprised too - but made no complaint because it truly felt amazing.

It appeared Clint Barton was a man of many secret skills indeed.

Eventually, though, the water began to run cold and you’d been in the water so long that your skin was pruning. Clint got out first, making no secret of the fact he was fully aware that you were staring at the way his soaked boxers clung to his legs, his ass, his… other assets. Almost putting on a show for you, he grabbed a towel and dried off the worst so he wouldn’t go dripping water around the house.

“I’ll leave you be so you can dry off in peace. I’ll even let you have the bed tonight. How’s that for good husbanding.”

“Thank you, Clint,” you said sincerely. A little uncomfortable with the surprisingly tender moment between you, you coughed softly and pointed out, “You gotta fix that door, though.”

“Really, Y/N? That’s what you’re thinking about now? I’m standing here, shirtless, dripping water on the ground like some soft porn model and you’re naked in the tub but all you can think of is the door? And you say I’m the weird one here.”

“Goodnight, Clint,” you called after him, laughing to yourself as he disappeared down the hallway.

A few seconds later, he called back, “Goodnight, Y/N.”


	6. October 10th

“Why in god’s name would you agree to that, Clint?”

“You like to cook, don’t you?”

“Yes but that doesn’t mean I want to hold a dinner party for Aaron and Claudia and all their business friends!” You resisted the urge to bang your head against the table only by dreaming of thumping his thick skull against the hard surface instead. Taking a deep breath, you met his gaze and saw something in his face that you couldn’t quite name. “What else is there that you aren’t telling me?”

Clint didn’t reply. Instead, he got up from the sofa and began searching the living room for something; what, you didn’t know. He checked everywhere. Between the cushions, under the thick piles of paper on the coffee table. Anywhere within 10 feet of where you sat, making sure there was nothing with a sharp enough point for you to stab him.

Convinced that he was safe, he leant against the furthest wall and said slowly, “The party’s tonight.”

Before he even registered the movement, you pulled a small dagger from your boot and hurled it towards him. It missed his neck by a few centimetres, although that wasn’t by design. You’d been aiming with a view to a kill so he was just lucky that you were too angry to maintain a full control over your body. “I hate you so much right now.”

“Yeah, I kinda guessed that,” he said, pulling your dagger from the wall and hesitantly handing it back to you. Perching on the armrest beside you, leaning over your shoulder to skim Claudia’s phone records from yesterday, Clint said, “Just hear me out, okay?”

Twisting around to face him, you said, “Oh, I’m all ears, believe me. Why did you agree to this, Clint? Honestly. Why do this to me? Have I been that bad a partner these past few weeks that you just want to punish me?”

“No. No. It isn’t that. David Patterson is one of their guests.”

You frowned. The name rung a bell but you couldn’t for the life of you place it. It wasn’t on any of the sheets spread out in front of you, either, so you had no idea why you knew the name. Frustrated with yourself, you aggressively picked at the dirt beneath your nails with the sharp tip of your knife.

“He was mentioned in the files SHIELD sent over last week,” Clint explained, putting you out of your misery. He pointed over at the now empty boxes of intelligence (everything had to be shredded then burned as soon as you were finished reading it to stop your nosey neighbours from seeing it) as if that helped prove his point. “Patterson’s high level Congress. The agent tailing him said something about him being in contact with known Mafia bosses. The same ones that our guys are supposed to be working with, too.”

“Brilliant. Why are we inviting a Congressman into our home? If he’s already got an agent assigned to him, then it isn’t really our place to get involved. I know I’d be annoyed if another agent crossed over into our turf.”

Clint nodded, agreeing completely but arguing that there was no choice. Aaron had been quite insistent that he introduce you both to his friends and Clint didn’t want to raise any red flags by disagreeing. However, even as he explained all of this, you knew that there was something more that he wasn’t telling you. Every sign was pointing towards it being something absolutely terrible.

You weren’t wrong.

You demanded that Clint tell you whatever it was that was causing him to fidget so much and when he yielded you wished you hadn’t asked. Rightfully nervous, Clint said slowly, “Patterson is well known for having a long string of affairs.”

“Get out.”

“Come on, Y/N…” Clint grumbled, leaning forward and resting his chin on your shoulder in far too familiar a way considering the circumstances. Perhaps if the timing were different, or the atmosphere not as heavy as it was now, you might have welcomed the action. But now? It only made you more angry.

You shrugged him off and shook your head when he reached out for your arm. “Don’t. You’re asking me to sleep with a man who isn’t even my target for the possibility of getting information later on. Tell me I’m wrong, Clint. Tell me that that isn’t what you’re trying to say.”

“That isn’t what I’m asking. All I’m saying is that he might make a move and it would be beneficial for the whole case to be… open to certain advances.”

“No. I can’t do that. I won’t. That is not what I signed up for.”

“Well, actually, you did. You’re an agent. It ain’t pretty but agents get the information no matter the cost. The suggestion to be friendly came from high up the grapevine.”

“Of course a bunch of middle aged men don’t have a problem with whoring me out.”

Reaching out to touch you again, Clint said softly, “Y/N, it’s not like that. You don’t have to do anything. Just the promise is enough for a man like that.”

For a brief second, his fingers brushing against your skin did calm you. It was as if he were drawing the darkness out from inside you with every gentle touch. As quickly as it came, though, that feel vanished and you were left once again fuming with rage over the suggestion. Shoving him away, you hissed, “I can’t deal with this shit right now. Just get out and shut the door behind you.”

“Okay. I’ll go. I’ll be back around seven to help you set up for the party.”

***

The dinner party actually went a lot better than you had been expecting. Not to say that it was the best night of your life but it certainly hadn’t ranked as the worst, which was really all you could hope for.

You spent the entire night waiting on the Claudia, Aaron and their friends, smiling so much that you were convinced you’d permanently damaged the muscles in your cheeks. Claudia offered to help you serve up your dishes but you politely refused. In the end, with so little time to prepare anything fancy, you’d gone with a “rustic” Indian feast. It was made up of ten different dishes you’d learned to cook at University from your roommate from New Delhi and hastily thrown into whatever serving bowls you’d been able to find.

Thankfully it went down a treat; the rich bankers and businessmen were blown away by something so homely compared to their usual Michelin star banquets. You knew it tasted great and it didn’t really matter that it looked a bit of a mess. It got them all talking and made everyone feel comfortable. Quite the achievement seeing how ten hours ago you’d had no idea you’d be hosting a party at all.

For all the smiles and laughter, you spent the evening as a tense mess. The entire night, you ignored Clint and he made no attempts to draw you out. When he did manage to grab a moment of your attention, it was only ever to get you speaking to Patterson. Every time he left you alone with the Congressman, you gave him your best death stare and hoped he knew just how pissed you were.

Judging by the way Clint went around not so casually collecting all the knives and sharp, pointy objects, he was more than aware of how annoyed you truly were.

Perhaps the worst part was that Patterson was actually a really decent guy. You had no idea how someone so calm, so honest, had become a member of Congress. He really didn’t seem the type at all. The more you listened to him speak, the easier it became for you to understand why women fell at his feet and into his bed. He was charming, funny and certainly rather handsome too.

You kept yourself from stiffening when he rested his hand on the small of your back, smiling up at him and making sure that his wine glass was always full. It made your insides curl at how easy it was to play along with his flirting and playful brushes. By the time he and his entourage bid their farewells you knew you’d left the “right” impression to the man and that made you sick.

Aaron and Claudia were the last to leave, the former insisting that she help you clean up. What that really consisted of was Claudia perching herself on your worktop and talking at you while you piled everything into the dishwasher. Halfway through a long winded spiel about some kind of new body wax she was trying out, she asked suddenly, “Are you having troubles with the hubby, Y/N?”

“What gives you that idea?” you asked, gripping the edge of the plate so hard that it cracked. Throwing it into the trash, you laughed humourless and sighed, “Clumsy me.”

Claudia hopped down from the worktop and rested a hand on your shoulder, rubbing gently to try and help calm your erratic breathing. Handing you a glass of wine, she said, “It’s only a plate, darling. There are plenty more where that came from. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened with Clint.”

You had to give it to her; Claudia was far more observant than you’d realised. You’d have to be a lot more careful around her if she was able to notice such small changes in your behaviour.

Accepting the top up of your glass and downing it all in one, you pulled a stool out from beneath the worktop and collapsed into it. Your feet were killing you, having been one your feet and in heels for at least four hours this evening, so you happily kicked the shoes halfway across the kitchen, amused when Claudia followed suit and did the exact same.

Skipping over all of the details, you summed your bad mood up in 6 words. “Clint and I had a disagreement.”

“I figured that out on my own, hun. Was it about this dinner party because I told Aaron that it wasn’t fair to hand it over to you when you’d barely settled in. Obviously you’ve never hosted a gathering like this before; Oh, you did well, darling, believe me! But it was rather obvious this was your first time. Look on the brightside! You didn’t poison anyone and the food was very wholesome. And, of course, Aaron’s friends seemed very taken with you in that dress so that’s all that really matters. You could definitely do with a new bra to help push everything up and into place but what was I saying? You just need to remember that a dinner party is only a good as it’s hostess and you were quite the angel tonight.”

Claudia’s well intentioned rambles fell a little short when it came to lifting your mood but you gave her as strong a smile as you could muster, subconsciously tugging on the neckline of your dress to stop her from staring at your chest any longer. The room beginning to spin a little from all the wine, you gently pat her knee and said, “I think it’s time I went to bed.”

“Of course. You get a good night’s sleep and when you wake up tomorrow everything will be alright. I promise. You are Clint are adorable together and make such a lovely couple. Whatever little hitch this is will be over in no time.”

“Thank you, Claudia,” you said softly. “Don’t forget your shoes.”

“How could I? They cost me - or rather, they cost Aaron - six thousand dollars! I wouldn’t leave those laying around!”

“Six thousand…?”

“Our twentieth anniversary last month,” she laughed, fully aware for the first time how much like a brag her words sounded. Grabbing the shoes by the straps, acknowledging that she had had too much to drink to risk walking outside on the uneven road in such high heels, Claudia pulled you into a hug and kissed you on the cheek. “You really did do a good job tonight, darling. I’ll see you on Friday for cocktails with the girls, yeah?”

The moment the door shut behind Claudia and Aaron, you headed up to the bedroom without a word to Clint. He followed close behind - kind of like a sad puppy just wanting a little bit of attention - but remained silent. You were so tired that you just slipped your dress off, threw it into the corner and climbed into the sleeping bag on the floor without bothering to get into your pyjamas.

Clint switched off the light, mumbling a quiet “good night” under his breath. You opened your mouth to reply out of instinct but caught the words at the very last moment. It was stubborn and stupid however you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You’d never slept so poorly as you did that night.


	7. October 17th

“For god sake, Clint. Move your shit from the living room floor, will you? Claudia is coming around for drinks later and I have to hoover up all your mess. It’s like living with in a pig stye. Hell, that’s an insult to pigs.” When your shouting received no reply, you grew so angry that you thought your head might explode. You couldn’t take this any longer.

Ever since the dinner party, you and Clint had been walking on egg shells around one another. You’d been eating in separate rooms and last night the atmosphere in your shared bedroom had been so heavy that you’d thrown caution to the wind and slept on the sofa. Damned what the neighbours were thinking if they’d seen you. You just couldn’t bear to be in the same space as your partner. Not when you were both in such awful moods.

Stubbing your toe on one of his files was the last straw. You yelled even louder than before, practically shaking the entire house. “Clint, get your ass down here or I will drag you butt naked into the road and pray you get run over by Claudia and Aaron’s incredibly overpriced Royce!”

Still no reply. Instead, a few minutes later, Clint came stumbling in to the living room with a strange look on his face. You didn’t stop to think what might be bothering him. Instead, you just let rip all the tension from the last week, all the negative emotion you’d bottled up releasing in one terrible rant.

Not a single word seemed to bother your partner, though. He was too busy searching for something - probably his phone, seeing how often he left that damn thing lying around - and barely looked in your direction. The one time he did, Clint caught sight of your fuming expression and his eyes widened. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Have you not listened to a single word that I’ve been saying?” you hissed. “Are you deaf or something?”

In that moment, everything clicked into place and you’d never felt so stupid. You stopped raging and took a second to actually look at him, realising just how caught up in your own anger that you had been to miss something so obvious. Of course, you should have seen it straight away. He wasn’t wearing his hearing aids.

He hadn’t been ignoring you after all. He had legitimately been unable to hear a word you’d said. You’d read his file. His lip reading was okay but he couldn’t get by on that alone. No wonder he looked so confused right now.

Rolling your eyes, you signed, _hearing aid - you - lost?_

Clint watched your hands moving and frowned. Tapping a spot just above his ear, he said, “Hearing aids. Put them down somewhere and can’t find them.”

It was strange to hear him speak without his aids in. He couldn’t quite regulate his voice in the same way as normal. Certain syllables were louder than they should be, others higher in pitch than usual. It was odd but you quickly adapted to the changes; it was hardly a big deal when his meaning was an understandable as always. Perhaps the most interesting thing was the fact that he automatically added the signs to everything, even though you could understand his spoken words perfectly well.

 _See - hearing aid - when? - where?_ you signed, after tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention back on you.

“Your signing is shit,” he pointed out, frowning so hard this time that you genuinely thought the vein in his forehead would burst. Solely watching your lips when you repeated your questions a second time, he shook his head unable to catch your meaning. “Your file said you could sign well.”

Grumbling that you could sign well and that he just wasn’t paying enough attention, you started watching his hand gestures and realised again too late exactly what was happening here. Holding you hand in the air in the universal action for stop, you spelt out _a-s-l? b-s-l? Which?_

Based on the look of utter confusion your signs were met with, you had your answer. Your father was deaf and had been the one to teach you how to sign. However, he’d grown up in England so the signs you had learnt from him were British compared to American. You never used your sign language in your regular life in America so it had never been a problem but now you were beginning to realise just how hard this was going to be if you and Clint actually had no idea what the other was saying.

You wracked your brain for the little ASL you knew, eventually managing to spell b-s-l and pointing to your chest, hoping that he’d get the message. Thankfully - if it could be called that - _fuck_ was indeed one of the American signs you remembered so you knew exactly what he said in response.

Very slowly, trying hard not to distort or over exaggerate any of your lip movements, you asked, “Where did you have them last?”

Clint shrugged but whether that was because he couldn’t remember where he’d put his hearing aids down or he just hadn’t understood your question you weren’t sure. With him offering no other clues or suggestions, it was up to you to take charge of the search. Making a “c” with you thumb and forefinger, you tapped the side of your head twice and said, “Let’s check the bedroom.”

“Bedroom,” he repeated, placing his palms together by the side of his head and then making what you thought looked a lot like the action for “cardboard box” from the children’s song _big fish, little fish._ Clint hadn’t been impressed by when you’d shared that comparison. 

You froze at the doorway to your bedroom, staring at the mess and wondering how you’d missed hearing a bomb drop on it. In his clearly frantic search, Clint had thrown everything - and you meant everything - around the room, only making it harder for himself to find anything. You had to take a moment to prepare yourself to step into the mayhem, although you couldn’t wait long because Clint just shoved you forward with a grumbled, “S’not that bad.”

Coordinating your search turned out to be all but impossible using sign language. Every time you suggested something, Clint would stare at you blankly and then suggest the same thing in ASL - which you barely understood. You eventually resorted to pointing at things, ordering him to move everything off the floor and on to the bed. From there, you painstakingly searched through the contents of the entire room.

Three hours later, you were still no nearer to finding his hearing aids.

“On the plus, at least the room’s tidy,” you sighed, signing the words alongside even though you knew he wouldn’t understand.

Faced with such a resounding failure, Clint turned to you and said as clearly as ever, “I need coffee.”

Sat on the sofa five minutes after, each with a steaming cup of coffee, you let out a deep sigh. You couldn’t believe how strong Clint had his, the intoxicating aroma so strong that even you as an avid coffee lover had to shuffle away from him just for a breath of fresh air. You drank in silence, more comfortable than it had been for days.

Eventually, though, you bumped your elbow against his to get his attention and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, knowing fully well that he had understood you the first time. “I’ve been a bitch this week. You didn’t deserve that. You were only doing your job. I understand that now and I’m sorry.”

Clint watched your lips move very carefully, his gaze occasionally dropping to your hands. He smiled when he recognised a few of the signs, similar in both languages, and gently patted you on the knee. His voice shaking a little, he said, “I’m sorry, too. Are we good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good, Clint.”

A knock on the door pulled you from the gentle moment and you were met my Claudia’s smiling face. Clint appeared behind you in an attempt to block her view of the still horrendously messy living room - not to mention the large folders of intelligent strewn across the floor with her name all over the documents inside - and you made quite the successful wall together.

Keeping your voice as light as you could, you asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I know you cancelled tonight - it’s perfectly fine, by the way; we have been invited out to dinner with a few of Aaron’s friends. I hesitate to call them famous but they have been in a few blockbuster movies…”

“Claudia, please,” you said, gentle but firm. You really didn’t have the patience to deal with her tangents today.

“Of course! I just came round to return these.” She handed over Clint’s hearing aids, laughing when both you and he let out an enormous sigh of relief. “Aaron found them under the table in his man cave. They must have fallen out last night when Clint came around for a drink. Anyway, all safe and sound. I must be going, darling. Have a lovely evening!”

She kissed you both on your cheeks and waved goodbye as she tottered down the street to where her limo - of course, she had a limo - was waiting.

The moment you closed the door, you turned to Clint and said, “Hearing aids don’t just fall out.”

Slipping the aids back into his ears, it took him a few seconds to adjust to the new sensation of hearing again. Despite the sudden change, Clint looked all the more happy for the return of what was essentially another part of him. “Aaron wouldn’t stop talking about his favourite football team and I just wanted to watch the game in peace. I took them out, shoved them in my pocket and obviously they fell out when I got up to leave.”

He poured himself another cup of coffee, offering some to you but you shook your head. You were already wired from one cup of his super strength caffeine. If you had any more you’d be bouncing off the walls. Clint looked a little offended but then realised that it just meant more for him and that substantially improved his mood.

Back on the sofa, the tidying relegated to a job for later, you sat comfortably together, a small gap between you but still friendly. Clint turned to you and said, “I am sorry.”

“I know. So am I. Let’s just move past this and stay focused on the mission.”

“Can we do that later? I’m tired.”

You couldn’t believe for a second that he was actually tired, seeing how much caffeine he had ingested in the last twenty minutes alone, but before you could say anything, Clint’s head lolled to the side and came to rest on your shoulder. You tried to shrug him off but he was a dead weight and it became clear that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Rolling your eyes at the disaster of a man, you reached out and grabbed a few files from the ground to read while he slept, glad that you were finally back on good terms with your partner.


	8. October 24th

“I hate golf,” Clint grumbled, storming into the kitchen and dropping his bags by the door. He walked straight passed you towards the fridge, helped himself to an entire pack of beers and then slunk back into the living room where he promptly made himself at home on the sofa.

Claudia and Alison - the culinary genius responsible for the fish tacos that had rendered Clint so speechless a few weeks before - grinned in your direction, amused to no end by Clint’s childish behaviour. You simply rolled your eyes, a little too used to it by now. Claudia leant over the countertop and filled your glass to the rim and patted your hand. “I told Aaron to go easy on your hubby, seeing how it was his first time playing with boys. Obviously he didn’t quite get the message.”

“Has he always been such a sore loser, Y/N?” Alison asked, picking a small salmon and cream cheese canape from the plate and popping it in her mouth. “He didn’t strike me as the type. Always seems so strong and confident when I talk to him.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea how pouty he can get when things don’t go his way,” you mumbled. Only yesterday you’d bought the soap that smells like pomegranates instead of the one that smells like tangerines and he’d spent hours moping around. The day before that, his team’s game had been suspended due to bad weather for 30 minutes and he’d spent the entire time complaining. He really was like a picky, petulant child.

Alison laughed, a little lightheaded after an evening of trying to keep up Claudia’s drinking. Where you had paced yourself, Alison had accepted every refill that her friend had offered and it was beginning to take its toll. She was the best kind of tipsy, happy and giggling until she’d eventually fall asleep and have to be dragged back home by her long-suffering but loving husband.

Peering around the kitchen door to where Clint was scratching his junk with one hand and downing a beer with the other, Alison said, “It’s kinda cute, though, don’t you think?”

“Yes, well. He certainly has his moments but this isn’t one of the finer ones.” Catching his eye, you gave him a little wave and signed to him, _Want to talk?_

 _I don’t understand,_ he signed back, a set of hand movements you’d come to know extremely well. You knew for a fact, though, that he was lying through his teeth - in as much a way as a person could without actually speaking. He understood exactly what you were saying (you’d been practising some useful ASL phrases in private) but just didn’t want to respond, at least not in present company.

Clint let his gaze wander back to the TV and he stared at it blankly, not taking in a single word of it. Sensing you and the other women staring at him, he turned back to you and with a plastic smile on his face added, _Your signing is still shit._

“What is he saying?” Claudia asked, resting her elbows on the table and leaning round to get a better view. “It looks romantic.”

“Totally,” you said, feeling a smile tug at the corner of your lips. “He says he loves me with all his heart and that I am the light of his life.”

The two women sighed, resting their hands over their hearts. Alison lay her head on the table, beginning to feel the effects of all the wine. “Oh, that’s so beautiful. I wish my husband said such romantic things to me.”

“I’m sure that Ben has his own way of showing how much he loves you.” Somewhat awkwardly, you reached across and patted her shoulder, eliciting a loud, ugly snore. You rolled your eyes at the poor woman before saying to Claudia, “I think that’s our night done. Could you help me get her home?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about it, darling. I can manage perfectly fine. Go give your hubby some care and attention. I’ll take Ali out the back so we don’t disturb you.” You shook your head and assured her that the drunk man-child on your sofa could wait ten minutes for you to help her but she was insistent. “Y/N, Clint needs a little loving after his big defeat. There is no better way to boost a man’s ego by giving him some great sex. Come here. Let me fix you up real quick.”

Claudia literally pulled you onto the stool beside hers by your arm and whipped out her ‘little’ makeup bag; she may have called it small but there was enough designer product in that bag to rival a professional artist’s stash. Truly, the muscles she had from dragging all of that around every day would be the envy of any woman.

You sat patiently as she applied more makeup to your face in five minutes than you had worn in the last five years combined and then adjusted your hair to make you look “just a little bit slutty” - whatever that meant. Finally, Claudia leant forward and, without a word of warning, began readjusting your bra and dress to give you more dramatic cleavage. She gave you a last looking over before nodding, proud of her work.

A kiss on your cheek then she wrapped her arm around Alison’s waist, promptly throwing her over her shoulder in a way you had most _definitely_ not been expecting. Claudia blew you another kiss and said, “Thank you for the drinks, darling; that white today was far better than the one you had last week. Now you enjoy your night and give me all the sordid details on Friday.”

You grabbed another bottle of wine from the rack and brought two glasses in to the living room. Collapsing onto the sofa beside Clint, you handed him a glass and said, “Say when.”

Only when the wine was overflowing from the glass did he say to stop.

“Why not just drink it from the bottle if you want that much,” you mumbled under your breath. You should have known better than to think he wouldn’t hear you; his hearing aids were incredibly sensitive so he picked up every word.

“That’s just what I was hoping you’d say!” Clint grinned, swapping the full glass in his hand for the three quarters full bottle in your hand. He took a swig and winked in your direction.

Shaking your head when he offered you the bottle back, instead just taking a sip from the overflowing glass instead, you asked, “What happened today with Aaron and his friends?”

“I lost.”

“Well, I guessed that. It’s really not that big a deal, Clint.”

“No, you don’t get it. I had to lose. I am good at what I do, Y/N. You might not believe that but it’s the truth. I never miss a shot. It’s part of who I am. Today, I had to miss every single one because if I didn’t then they might have guessed something was up. I had to listen to them talk bollocks and then had to pay for the rounds in the bar as well because I lost. I coulda wiped the floor with those smarmy pricks.”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight,” you said, wrapping your hand around the neck of the bottle and tearing it from his grasp. Setting it down on the table, you then patted his knee and said, “Why don’t you turn in for the night? I’ll deal with all the paperwork and reports and you can just sign it off tomorrow. Or, if you aren’t feeling that, I’ll just forge your signature - if you can called that ridiculous scribble a signature - and be done with it. How’s that sound?”

Clint nodded, wobbling only the slightest when he stood up from the sofa. Ignoring your frown, he grabbed the bottle of wine and stumbled up the stairs - somehow managing to not spill a single drop of the expensive rioja on his way. He paused at the top of the stairs and shouted back down, “Thank you, dear light of my life.”

“Go to bed, Barton!”

“That’s Jones to you!”

“Good night, Clint.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

By the time you eventually packed away all the files and folders, signed out of SHIELD’s private servers and finished cleaning up the mess in the kitchen it was almost four in the morning. Like a zombie, you headed up the stairs to your shared bedroom only to find Clint curled up in a ball on the floor - even though it was his night for the bed.


	9. October 31st

“I am not wearing this. I look ridiculous. We are grown adults, for god sake! Why on Earth would Claudia and Aaron throw such a stupid party? I get they’re raising money for charity but a costume party? Why?”

Clint peered around the door of the wardrobe he’d been changing behind to tell you to stop moaning but the words never came. He took one look at you and his jaw dropped. In fact, his entire brain seemed to short circuit a little bit. Stumbling over his words, he somehow managed to pull it together enough to say, “You’re a fucking vision, Y/N.”

He strode across the room towards you and stopped less than a foot away, looking at you in awe as he took in every detail of your costume. Fishnet tights he wanted to tear a hole in. The tiny navy skirt that covered everything but teased just enough to get his imagination going. The stunningly intricate (and dangerously low cut) corset that really kick started his imagination, squeezing you in and emphasising everything, helped infinitely by the cut out navy jacket and huge buckle that were definitely designed to direct attention to your chest.

It was all the little details, too. The lace on every edge, dark and delicate and so enticing. Your fingerless gloves, real leather with rusting buckles. The top hat that didn’t sit straight on your head and the boots which if they’d been a size larger Clint would definitely have stolen for himself. You looked like you’d come straight off a Victorian film set and he wondered how he’d ever missed your incredible body.

More than that, though, he could not believe how he’d missed your beautiful face. You were wearing the bare amount of makeup you could with such a brazen costume, just a little eyeshadow, mascara and a dark red lipstick that made it impossible for him to tear his gaze away from your mouth. In that moment, he was overcome by such an unexpected urge to kiss you that he could think of nothing other than pulling you close and running his hands over your entire body.

Just as he stepped forward, you backed away. Spinning around, the long back of your skirt flowing behind you as you moved, you sat down at your dressing table and met his gaze in the mirror. “Stop staring, Clint. Get the rest of your costume on so we can just get this night over and done with.”

“Baby, how can I stop staring when you look like this?” he asked. Suddenly standing behind you, looking down at where you were struggling with a clasp, he said softly, “Let me help you.”

Clint’s fingers brushed over yours as he took over securing the thin, black choker around your neck. The bare brush of his skin over yours sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flaring up with heat. His fingers lingered for a brief moment, tracing the length of your neck before he finally let his hand drop back to his side.

“I, uh… Thank you,” you mumbled, pushing yourself out the chair and practically diving out the bedroom. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything else, not when your heart was racing the way it was. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Okay?”

As you paced around the living room, you couldn’t help but play over what had just happened in your mind. Sure, Clint had been a little flirty with you on occasion in the past but he’d never to that extent. It was outright mind boggling behaviour which in the end you simply put down to the man being horny. It was coming up to 2 months that you’d been living together now and in all that time, despite what the neighbours seemed to think, he’d never gotten off with anyone that you knew of. He was probably just turning that desire on you now.

“Finally,” you sighed, hearing Clint hurry down the stairs. Turning on your heels, it was your turn to be rendered speechless. Almost choking on the words, you asked, “Uh, Clint… Where is your shirt?”

He walked - or more accurately strutted like he was a catwalk in Milan - across the room towards you, the biggest shit eating grin on his face. He knew he looked fabulous in those tight leather pants - god, they were _tight_ \- with those carefully placed buckles and zips and that long jacket and was more than happy to flaunt it. Oh, boy, was he happy to flaunt it.

Completely involuntarily (at least that’s what you told yourself) you lifted your hand and placed it on his bare, oiled - of course, it was oiled - chest. You’d not been wrong when you’d seen his abs before; they really were made of steel.

Still smirking, he pointed upstairs to your room. “Hanging up.”

You were trying your hardest not to stare but damn was it hard. Only in forcing yourself to look away did you realise that your hand was still on his bare chest. Coughing to try and hide the wave of embarrassment rolling through you, you asked slowly, “And why… Um, Clint… Why are you not wearing it?”

“Gotta look as hot as my wife.”

“Enough. Why are you really doing this? To catch Claudia’s eye? Because I know that she and Aaron have an, uh, open relationship but…”

“Open? Really? Well, that makes everything a lot easier, then.”

“We are not sleeping with them, Clint.”

“I would never…” he began, but you cut him off.

“No. I put my foot down at this, Barton. It’s one thing to flirt with a politician but I am not getting close to Aaron - or Claudia - in that way. Ever. I’m sorry but it is not happening. This marriage may be fake but my views on it as an institution are not. If you even dream of suggesting something like that again, I’ll…”

“I know, I know. You’ll take my arrows and shove them up my ass. You know, the more you say that, the less of a threat it sounds and more like a promise. Especially when you’re dressed like a Victorian Madame.”

“Okay,” you said, throwing your hands in the air. You had to take a deep breath to push away the images that were rolling through your mind, trying hard not to imagine Clint in those kinds of sordid situations. However, with him standing so close, his chest displayed so proudly and the ridiculously tight trousers leaving none of his excitement to the imagination, you said firmly, “This conversation is done. We are _not_ talking about Aaron or Claudia’s sex life anymore. Or anyone’s sex life, in fact. Can we please just go?”

Clint followed you out the door, not so subtly checking out your ass as you walked down the street. While you didn’t admit it, you couldn’t say that you completely hated the attention that he was giving you. After all, it had been a long two months for you too…

You were greeted at the door by Claudia, who was dressed as a queen of the undead. Frankly, even with pale skin and red contacts, she looked amazing. Like always. Her dress was definitely over the top enough for you to feel less self conscious about your own attire. She wore a tight corset, deep purple and covered in intricate black lace, and a skirt made of hundreds of layers of fabric which somehow still managed to remain a little too see-through.

Aaron appeared behind her, also dressed as a vampire, and began gently mouthing at Claudia’s neck, pretending (you thought) to bite her. She rolled her eyes and elbowed him but he simply wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. As strange a couple as they were turning out to be, it was evident that they really did love each other.

“Come in, come in!” Claudia sang, pulling on the edges of your skirt and grinning. Just as you had before, she quickly touched Clint’s chest and her blush was clear even through the layers of facepaint. “Look at you, darling! So beautiful. And Clint… You look very handsome tonight too.”

You felt Aaron’s eyes drifting over you and instinctively turned your body away from him, pulling on the longer edges of your skirt to hide your legs as much as you could. Your smile a little stiffer than it had been the moment before, you kept your attention on Claudia. “You look gorgeous, too, of course. Why don’t you introduce me to a few of your guests. I’d love to meet the people being so generous towards your foundation.”

“Of course, darling! They are all so excited to meet you too. I know it’s a while away but I would love to have you help me plan the next of my big fundraisers. It would be so good to get you involved with the work we do now that you’ve settled in.”

You agreed, thinking that it actually didn’t sound all that bad a thing to get involved with some charity work. Looking over your shoulder as Claudia pulled you into the living room, you tried to find Clint for support but Aaron had already dragged him off in the other direction towards the kitchen for a beer.

Alone, you felt the weight of the guests’ stares on you all evening. You kept to the corner, sipping wine and watching everyone else mingle. There had to be over three hundred guests there so keeping a track on them all was difficult but there were a few faces you recognised from your files from SHIELD and they were where you kept your attention. Most of the time.

More often than you would like to admit, your gaze fell on Clint. He’d spent the night entertaining the guests alongside Aaron; unlike you, he seemed to have a natural talent for people - which you thought incredibly strange seeing how much he hated them as a rule. Clint smiled at everyone, especially the women, but also the more attractive men (of which there were many) and you couldn’t help feel a little upset that they were getting all of his attention and not you.

It was stupid. You had no claim on the man. Hell, most of the time you could barely get on with him! But in that moment that didn’t seem to matter. He was your husband, after all - no one needed to know that that wasn’t _really_ true. 

You couldn’t stand to watch the other guests fawning over him so headed to the kitchen to grab another drink. You probably shouldn’t have bothered, seeing just how many drinks you’d already had, but you couldn’t face the jealousy any longer.

Less than three steps later, Aaron appeared by your side and caught your arm as you swayed. “Hey, now. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you smiled, your voice a little harder than it probably needed to be. “Just moved too quickly. I can barely breathe in this stupid thing.”

Aaron opened his mouth to reply when Clint swooped in, out of the blue, to save you. He fearlessly met Aaron’s gaze and you could swear that he even puffed out his chest a little bit, trying to look more intimidating against the bigger man. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my wife, but I can take it from here.”

There was a long moment of silence when Aaron debated how to proceed but in the end he just smiled and waved you on your way. Instead of taking you to the kitchen to get another drink, however, Clint slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you into the cupboard beneath the stairs.

“What are you doing?” you exclaimed, your hand on Clint’s chest trying to keep some kind of gap between you both. After he shh-ed you, you lowered your voice to a whisper and asked again, “Clint, what is this about? Why are we in a cupboard?”

“I don’t want people staring at you any more.”

“Everyone was too busy looking at you to care about me.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Clint breathed, brushing the loose locks of the hair extension from your face and behind your ear. He trailed his fingers down the length of your jaw, feather light and barely there but enough to send a burning wave of desire through your body. In the darkness - the only light sneaking through the gaps in the door, the gentle glow softening Clint’s hungry expression - your senses were heightened and every touch felt a hundred times more intense.

He leant forward, his lips hovering above yours, sharing the same air as you both eagerly waited for the other to break first. His fingers still tracing patterns on your skin, Clint whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I don’t want anyone else staring at you. Especially not Aaron.”

“I’m not interested in Aaron.” You ran your hands over his chest, tracing the lines of the defined muscles in a way that seemed to drive him insane. As your hands got lower, coming to rest beneath his jacket and on his hips, Clint’s resolve snapped.

Pushing you up against the wall, he crushed his lips against yours, passionate and full of heat. You matched his intensity, fighting for a dominance he was more than willing to let you have. With his submission you were able to shove him off you, backing him against the door. He let out a low groan when you tugged on his lower lip, his fingers tightening on your hips so much that it would definitely leave marks.

“Shh,” you whispered, nipping his lip to make him be quiet. Everyone at the party already knew you were making out in the cupboard like a bunch of drunk teenagers but that didn’t mean they needed to hear it as well. Closing the gap between you once again by pulling him forward by the waistband of his trousers, you whispered against his bruised lips, “Let’s go home, Clint.”

He cupped your face in his hands, holding you still as he kissed you again, slower this time. It was soft and gentle and so different from his earlier passion yet it still managed to fill your core with a heat you had not felt in a long time. One hand slid down your body, coming to rest on your thigh. Playing with your tights, ripping an enormous hole in them, Clint mumbled, “Does this mean we finally get to share the bed?”

“If we make it that far,” you grinned, taking his hand in the darkness and dragging him back out into the hallway. You caught Claudia’s eye as you headed for the front door, not even the slightest bit embarrassed when she gave you a thumbs up and a saucy wink, shouting a promise to speak to you sometime tomorrow afternoon.

You and Clint _did_ make it to the bedroom, although by that point you were barely dressed. Pieces of your costumes were strewn across the house, parting only for the briefest seconds to pull another layer free. Your hands roamed over one another’s bodies in a grand exploration, touching every inch except the areas that wanted touching the most.

You collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs but before anything happened Clint mumbled, “I gotta pee.”

“Now? Really?”

“Babe, when you gotta go, you gotta go,” Clint said, staggering off down the hallway towards the bathroom. By the time he returned, you’d already fallen asleep and when he slumped on to the mattress beside you he wasn’t far behind.


	10. November 4th

“Are we gonna talk about what happened?”

You shook your head, hiding behind one of the wet shirts you were hanging on the washing line. Ever since you’d woken up after Halloween, things had been strange between you and Clint. You knew nothing had happened - at least, you thought nothing had happened; you weren’t that drunk - but the awkwardness had hung heavily over you both.

Neither of you had been sure how to proceed so had said nothing in the hope that it would eventually just go away. Unfortunately, things had only gotten more awkward. Every accidental touch or brush or kind gesture was now being searched for some kind of hidden meaning. Honestly, it was driving you insane.

You just wanted everything to go back to the way it was, when you’d been comfortable in the knowledge that you neither of you wanted to be on this mission and were only being civil to make it a little more bearable. No feelings involved, at all. A professional relationship - as profession as Clint was able to be, at least - and nothing more.

Hanging another shirt on the line, watching Clint in the corner of your eye as he walked towards you, you shrugged, “There’s nothing to say. We were drunk and it didn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, thank god,” Clint sighed, almost collapsing onto the bench behind him. He sunk into the hard wooden frame, hands curled around a steaming cup of coffee as took a sip. While it was still warm enough to dry the washing outside (barely) there was a definite chill coming and it turned out the Clint was far more sensitive to the cold than you. Where you were still in jeans and a t-shirt, he was now in a thermal, long sleeve and seemed to rely on his coffee even more than before to keep him warm from the inside.

Finally meeting each other’s gaze, Clint said, “I was scared it meant something to you because then I’d have to give you the whole fake regret speech and tell you we should just be friends.”

“Bold of you to assume I want to be your friend, Barton.”

“That’s Jones, to you,” he smirked over his coffee mug. His tone remained light, although you could hear the serious edge beneath it when he asked, “We’re good, right? This hasn’t changed anything.”

“Yep, we’re good,” you said, a little relieved to finally have it all in the open. Sure, it was true: You found him attractive. And on occasion, very attractive. But that was all it was. Just physical attraction and a drunken kiss and there was nothing more to it. Now that you knew he felt that same way, it was so much easier to look him in the eye without being overcome by confusion.

Clint nodded, relief flooding his expression to hear you speak those words. Rising to his feet, your partner began back towards the house, pausing only to say, “I left a cup on the side for you. With milk and sugar the way your weak ass likes it.”

“Thank you, Clint.”

“Yeah, well. I had the kettle on so no harm done. See you inside?”

“Yeah, I won’t be much longer,” you said.

Less than five minutes later, you were curled on the sofa beside Clint, going through another set of files from SHIELD. You were surprised that none of your neighbours had asked about the constant stream of special deliveries that came to your house almost every day. That was an issue for another day, though. All that mattered was the notice on the top of today’s file.

“They’ve given the go ahead to start real surveillance,” Clint said, deciphering the otherwise gibberish note in the front of the folder. “I’ll take the lead on that. Don’t worry.”

Your frowned at that, taking the file and flicking through the latest updates from SHIELD’s tech department. They sent you phone records, credit receipts, electronic schedules… Basically anything that they could get from Aaron and Claudia’s technology. Of course, their private servers were completely inaccessible even for SHIELD but these little bits of information had helped to build an overall picture of the couple.

Scribbling a note at the bottom of a page, pointing out that the figures didn’t add up properly, you turned to Clint and said, “I am capable of organising surveillance, you know.”

“Not for something as important as this.” Clint snatched the files back, crossing out your note at the bottom only to the rewrite it underneath when he realised that you had indeed been right in your calculations. “Just watch for a bit and then, when I think you’re ready, you can take the lead.”

“Oh, yes. Because, of course, the great Clint Barton always knows best.”

“Actually, I do. I’ve been in this line of work far longer than you and I’m good at it, Y/N. I’m one of the best since, believe it or not, I do know what I’m doing. So yeah, you’re gonna do what I say, whether you want to or not.” Sensing that you were about to strike up another argument, Clint narrowed his eyes and said stiffly, “If you still need a better reason, here’s one: I outrank you, Agent. You will do as you are told.”

Clenching your jaw, you took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine,” you spat. Grabbing the box containing all your paperwork, you rose from the sofa and stormed down to the basement to finish your work alone.


	11. November 7th

What was that saying; No good deed goes unpunished? Well, that certainly seemed to be the case today.

You and Clint had been taking shifts watching the Cuttermans non-stop for the past three days and you were both beginning to go a little stir crazy. Your paranoia levels had spiked through the roof, a perfectly natural response to the situation. They’d told you that in SHIELD training; when you spend so much time concentrating on watching other people, you begin to think that everyone is watching you back. You’d always thought that was ridiculous but knew better now.

In an attempt to alleviate a little of your discomfort, you’d chosen to bake a cake in your time off shift. While Clint was huddled away in the dim light of the basement, staring at five different screens and watching every move that Claudia and Aaron made, you took advantage of the peace upstairs and made what may have been the best cake you’d ever baked.

Being the kind and generous person that you sometimes were, you decided to share your masterpiece with your partner. Cutting him a thick slice and pouring a ridiculously huge mug of coffee (with an added shot of energy powder because apparently Clint could tolerate more caffeine than a horse), you headed downstairs to surprise him.

That was where it all went wrong.

First off, you almost fell down the stairs when you tripped over a pair of his shoes - which weren’t even matching. Then, surviving a twisted ankle, you’d whacked your head on the broken door frame (Clint had been trying to do chin ups on the old wooden frame and ended up tearing it from the wall so it now hung limply, almost unavoidably, at perfect head height).

To top it all off, he was so in the zone, focused on a seemingly empty corner of the top screen, that he didn’t hear you call his name as you started down the stairs. That meant when he saw the reflection of movement in the darker screen to his left, Clint immediately spun around on his chair and in one fluid movement grabbed his bow and shot an arrow directly at you.

By some miracle, the arrow embedded itself in the slice of cake, narrowly missing a few major organs in your chest.

“Seriously, Clint?” you groaned, slamming the cake and coffee down on the desk in front of him. “What the hell was that for? I have told you a hundred times that there is to be no archery in this house! I promised to stop throwing knives and you swore to put that thing into hiding. Normal people don’t have a highly customised bow in their houses and if Claudia or Aaron found it…”

“It’s fucking suburbia, who knows what these people have in their basements,” he grumbled. “Just gimme a break, alright? I’ve been at this for twelve hours straight.”

Pulling up a chair, you rolled your eyes and said, “I told you that we should do shorter shifts. After today, I say we do three hours maximum. No arguments. The tapes roll whether we watch them or not, we can just review them at the end of the day. Now, eat your cake, Barton. It’ll make you feel better.”

He eyed it cautiously, glancing at you with droopy eyes. “How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”

“For one, we’re on the same side, even when you are being a dick. For another, it’s too much paperwork to kill you. You don’t really think I’d poison you, do you?”

Without missing a beat, Clint said, “If you were really my wife, I certainly wouldn’t hesitate to put poison in your tea.”

“And if you were really my husband, I’d definitely drink it,” you bit back, unable to hide the smirk that tugged on your lips. You leant across him and tore a little piece off the cake slice, dropping it into your mouth and savouring the taste; it really was one of the best cakes you’d ever made. Sucking the icing off your fingers, you suddenly realised how intently Clint was watching the action and immediately dropped your hand to your side.

Quickly swallowing the rest of your mouthful, you said, “Uh… Right. Cake. Not poisoned, okay? And neither is your coffee but I am not drinking that to prove it. I don’t want to end up in a coma.”

“It’s not that strong,” he said, taking a huge swig of the hot drink and sighing in content.

“Trust me, it is. I’m wired enough for a week by just sniffing it.” Clint rolled his eyes at that, unable to argue because he knew that it was the truth. As he reached out for your cake, temptation finally overpowering the fear that you might be using it to kill him, you noticed all the little cuts on his hand.

Too fast for him to pull away, you grabbed his wrist and asked, “What in God’s name happened to your hand? It looks like you stuck it in a tank of hungry piranhas!”

“Lots of paperwork. Lots of paper cuts.” Clint caught the way you were staring at the deeper cuts, and found himself a little unnerved by the obvious sympathy you felt for him. Coughing awkwardly, he added, “I may have also had a fight with the coffee machine when it ran out a few hours ago. Which reminds me… We need a new coffee machine for down here. The old one is irreparably broken.”

“You’re a mess, you know that, Barton?” Shaking your head, you rummaged through the cupboard to find the first aid box (you’d hidden one in practically every room after realising that Clint had a tendency to hurt himself on everything). You gaze occasionally flickering up to the screens behind Clint’s head, you applied an antibacterial to his hand and covered the worst of the wounds with plasters. “There. That should help them heal better. You’re such an idiot, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Slowly withdrawing his hand from yours, he met your gaze and said softly, “Could you do me a favour, Y/N?”

“Maybe…”

“Close enough. I need you to take the blame for breaking the coffee machine. I’m not sure that the accounting team will agree to reimburse another one on my expenses. Please?”

“You do know that we have six coffee pots in this house already, right?”

“Uh… We _had_ six. Now we are down to three.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in despair, worried that some day soon you’d be living in a coffee pot graveyard. Shaking your head, you said firmly, “That’s it, no more late night shifts for you. But, yes, before you ask, I will put the claims on my expenses. Just this once. Happy?”

“So happy that I could kiss you.” The words left Clint’s mouth before he even registered them. It was hardly an uncommon occurrence but today it caught you both off guard. It had barely been a week since your drunken kiss and even though you’d addressed it and moved on you were both still trying to process it.

The air was thick between you and, even though barely a second passed before you spoke, it felt like an eternity. Forcing a light tone, reminding yourself that he meant nothing by it at all, you said, “Not necessary. Drink your coffee. Tell me why you’re watching Aaron fix his car. I doubt you’ll find anything interesting by watching him in the garage.”

“Maybe if you’d managed to plant a few more bugs on your last trip, we’d have more to work with.”

“You were the one who said to be careful. I could hardly go walking in to Aaron’s private office without attracting attention, could I? No one gets invited there. So take what you are given or go in there and plant your own bugs. Don’t take your frustration out on me.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, calming yourself before you did anything drastic. Pushing your hair from your face, trying hard not to pull out a lump in annoyance, you said, “Look, we’ve got plenty of time to gather intel on them. Take it easy. We can place more bugs and slowly build it up.”

Clint nodded, accepting your proposal and uttering a quiet apology. When you asked him to repeat that, claiming you hadn’t heard him properly, he said, “I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have gotten angry. Now. Please tell me that you have some more of this cake.”

You weren’t surprised by his abrupt change of mood. Any time he was forced to dwell on his or other’s emotions for too long the conversation almost always turned to food as an escape. Patting him on the shoulder, you said, “In the kitchen. Leave a few slices for tonight, though. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Aaron to make sure he doesn’t pull a hidden terrorist out from the bonnet or something.”

“You’re not funny,” Clint mumbled as we disappeared up the stairs. About half way up he let out an angry scream, tripping over the same pair of shoes that you had kicked on your way down. Anticipating your response, he yelled, “I’m picking them up, okay? Look, I’m moving them to the living room now.”

“You’re such a good husband, honey,” you shouted back, the words laced with so much sarcasm that even Clint couldn’t miss it. Still, that didn’t stop him from replying that you were lucky to have him. Thinking of all the trouble that he’d caused you already, you couldn’t help but wonder whether that was true or not.


	12. November 14th

“What are you trying to do to me, Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, barely looking up from your magazine. You’d been working hard the past week, going through reams and reams of accounting materials from Aaron’s businesses until you were dreaming about tax breaks and bottom lines. It didn’t seem too much to ask for a simple afternoon off but Clint clearly had other plans. Then again, you should hardly be surprised seeing how he interrupted every moment of peace you had here.

Suddenly in front of you, Clint snatched the magazine from your hands and scowled down at you with an intensity that made you incredibly uneasy. You and Clint bickered about a lot of meaningless things - even after these long two months you were still trying to find the exact groove of living together - but you really did think that you were getting along okay. Things had mostly been pretty good. Obviously you’d been wrong.

You gently pried the now crumpled magazine from his grip and set it down on the table behind it. With a surprising sincerity, you said, “Okay, I’ve done something to upset you and I’m sorry. You wanna tell me what I did?”

“You don’t know?”

“Honestly? Not a clue.”

“You’re supposed to be my wife, Y/N! I thought you cared about me. If you don’t even know what you did wrong, then why are we even together?”

Taking ahold of his hand, you tugged gently and patted the space beside you on the sofa. It was all you could do not to laugh at his outburst but whatever it was that was driving Clint to this frankly bizarre behaviour was clearly important to him so you forced yourself to hold it together. Anyway, it was kind of adorable in a weird, needy sort of way.

His expression was softer than you’d ever seen before, almost making him look like a completely different person, soft and a little broken and not unlike a muscle-y teddybear, as you said, “Okay. Clint, honey, sit down. Tell me what’s on your mind. What did I do?”

“You made lasagne.”

“Right. Okay…” Of all the responses you’d been expecting - everything from how you’d hidden his bow and arrows to take away the temptation of shooting Aaron to accidentally getting the wrong kind of coffee delivered - making his favourite meal was not the complaint you thought he’d be focusing on.

Running your fingers through his short hair, unsettled by the distinct lack of hair gel - which only served to highlight just how bad Clint had to be feeling if he was forgoing his usual, extensive beauty routine - you gently scratched the back of his head and said, “I’m gonna need a little more of an explanation than that.”

“Carbs, Y/N!” he exclaimed, jumping from the sofa before immediately sitting back down again. He rested his head against your palm like a puppy waiting to be petted and closed his eyes approvingly when you began absentmindedly playing with the messy strands. Clint let out a deep sigh, turning to face you directly. “Do you think I’m getting fat?”

“You’re worried about your weight?”

“Have you seen me lately?”

“Yes, Clint, I have. You look just as good as normal.” He scoffed at that, his breath warm against the inside of your wrist. Still a little confused what had brought this on, you asked, “Why do you think you’re getting fat?”

“My pants don’t fit anymore!”

“Well, yes. That’s because you shrunk them in the wash. I told you to go out and buy some new ones.”

“It’s not just that, Y/N. I was talking to Jennifer and Alyson about how they can look after their hair better and then they were telling me all about how terrible carbs can be for you and how I should be careful because they’ve noticed me acting a little sluggish lately and…”

You grabbed him by the shoulders and actually shook the poor man to get him to stop rambling. You dug your fingers into his flesh, the pain enough to snap him out of his divergence. Softly stroking the base of his neck with your thumbs, you said seriously, “Clint, listen to me because I am only going to say this once: You are not getting fat and if you were it wouldn’t matter. Carbs are not gonna kill you and we are having lasagne for dinner whether you like it or not. If it bothers you that much, get in the car and drive to the store to buy some salad.”

Worried that he might actually do just that, you put the smallest amount of pressure on his shoulders to tell him no. He looked at you with wide eyes, something strange underlying his expression which you couldn’t identify. Releasing your hold, you poked him in the chest and laughed at how quickly he frowned.

“What was that for?” he asked, retaliating in kind and poking you in the side.

“First off, _ow_. Secondly, I’m trying to prove a point. All this,” you said, waving your hands in front of his chest. For a brief moment - not quite brief enough that he didn’t notice - you caught yourself staring at his well defined muscles, wondering whether his t-shirt had always been so tight. Pushing the thought far from your mind, you continued, “There is no-one around here that could match this level of… “

“Awesomeness,” Clint interrupted, the cheeky glint back in his eyes once again. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“Sure. Right. Awesomeness. Either way, none of the men around here have muscles that come anywhere near yours so stop worrying about getting chubby. If you still think it’ll help, just go join a gym.”

“Can’t,” Clint grumbled and it only took you a moment to understand.

It was the same reason that he couldn’t let himself play golf properly with Aaron and his friends. If Clint went to a normal gym and bench pressed the 200kg that you knew he could then it might raise a few unwanted eyebrows. You’d read his file and knew that he had a stamina to almost rival Captain America and reflexes that would put anyone else to shame. Any casual gym goer would immediately assume he was on some kind of steroids and you couldn’t afford for that kind of rumour to start flying.

You suddenly felt Clint’s hand on top of yours, squeezing it gently. You lifted your gaze to his face, not quite remembering when you’d looked away, and returned his smile with a wobbly one of your own. Tracing the line of a thick vein on the back of your hand with his rough thumb, Clint said, “It’s not your fault, Y/N. I get it. Part of the mission and all.”

“I still feel bad. Maybe we could convert one of the spare bedrooms into a mini gym? I’m sure Claudia has a million personal trainer friends that can get us a good deal on some equipment. It’d only take a few days to convince the SHIELD accountants for some extra money to pay for it.”

“I appreciate the thought but you don’t need to do that for me.”

In your best _not everything is about you, Clint_ voice, one he had come to recognise very well, you said, “It wouldn’t just be for you. I haven’t trained since we left headquarters. If anyone is in danger of getting out of shape then it’s me. You know, if you wanted a challenge you could always help me get back up to peak.”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, Clint. You know you wanna say yes. I am literally giving you a reason to beat me up.”

“When you put it that way…”

“Brilliant. It’s settled. Now, if we’re good here,” you said, squeezing his hand as you got to your feet. “I need to go make the garlic bread for dinner tonight.”

“Garlic bread and lasagne? Y/N, think of my hips!”


	13. November 21st

“Let me sleep,” you grumbled, pulling the blanket over your head and rolling over so far that you banged your head on the bottom of the wardrobe door. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to stop Clint from shaking your shoulders until you finally turned back to face him. Your blurry eyes struggling to focus on the red glow of the bedside clock, you asked groggily, “What is it, Clint? It’s barely four am.”

“Claudia and Aaron just got in their car.”

“But it’s four in the morning…”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you! Now, come on or we’ll lose them!” Clint hissed, trying his hardest to keep his temper in check because he knew you were still half asleep. All but picking you up and flinging you over his shoulder, your partner dragged you down the stairs and pushed you into the car, driving off after the Cuttermans before you were even aware that you’d left the bedroom.

Clint whacked the AC up to maximum and directed it at you until the freezing cold jets of air properly woke you from your sleepy state. Naturally he was prepared when you reached over and thumped him in the chest for such a rude awakening. While he may not have deserved it for that, he figured it was probably retribution in kind since he had - accidentally, of course - knocked your head against the banister pretty hard in the rush down to the garage.

Grateful that he hadn’t separated you from your blanket, you pulled it tighter around your shoulders and stared out into the blackness ahead. There were no other cars in sight and you couldn’t help but fear you’d lost them already. Turning to Clint, you voiced your worries and added, “Do you really think we’ll find them?”

“The bugs aren’t just for surveillance, Y/N. They serve as GPS trackers too,” Clint pointed out, leaving you feeling a little stupid for never realising that. He tapped on the screen in the dashboard and two flashing dots appeared on a map. The red dot was slightly further down the road than the blue but both were clearly travelling in the same direction. “We’ll find them. Fury will never have to know that you were sleeping on the job.”

You knew it was a joke but something about his words jarred with you. Twisting your neck to face him, you asked, “Why weren’t you sleeping, Clint? We agreed not to bother with surveillance past midnight.”

“Aren’t you glad that I decided otherwise?”

“Not really. If I’d known you weren’t coming upstairs, I’d have slept in the bed,” you said, trying to make a joke out of his clear attempt at avoidance. You sat silently for a few minutes before your curiosity finally got the better of you. “Come on. Tell me what was on your mind.”

“Nothing important.”

Letting out a deep sigh, realising that it actually had to be something important if he was this adamant to avoid talking about it, you pressed him gently again. “Clint… You can tell me. I’m your partner. Are you sick? Do you need to see a doctor or is something else -”

“I was thinking about my wife,” he blurted, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. The admission shocked you both back into silence until he eventually managed to calm himself enough to elaborate - sort of, at least. “Ex-wife, I mean. Not you. Yesterday was five years since I last saw her.”

“Oh, Clint, I’m so sorry.” You truly meant it, too. You’d been so caught up in your own work and duties yesterday that you had completely missed his shitty mood. If you had barely glanced his direction you would have been able to see the pain on his face but even during dinner you’d been too busy filling in paperwork to notice.

“I don’t need your pity, Y/N. It’s in the past and nothing will change what happened.”

“If you ever wanna talk about her…”

“I won’t,” he hissed, his earlier openness and honesty drying up like a lake in the Sahara. “Just drop it, okay?”

“Alright, alright. I won’t mention it again.” Almost afraid to say anything else, you asked gently, “How long til we intercept?”

Clint glanced at the GPS on the screen where the red dot had begun to slow down and mumbled either fifteen or fifty minutes; you couldn’t quite tell. Thankfully, it was the former. You were especially grateful that it was sooner rather than later because you were getting quite sick of the bumpy, dirt track roads that you had been following. It certainly didn’t help that it had rained rather heavily earlier in the evening and the car was sliding around dangerously.

“Thank god my stomach is empty,” you groaned when you pulled in behind a large tree. Kicking the door open, you doubled over and savoured the cold air rushing in to your lungs, the urge to hurl your guts out significantly dropping. Clint appeared at your side of the car and awkwardly rubbed your shoulders as you stared at his shoes, your only thought that he really needed a new, less scruffy pair of boots.

When you were good to go, he helped you out the car and you snuck over to the Cuttermans’ vehicle together. Snuck may have been too generous. With the squelching of your steps in the thick mood and Clint swearing like a sailor beside you when he nearly slipped and fell, you were more like a pair of drunkards on a Friday night than highly trained spies.

Thankfully, if it can be considered so, their car was unoccupied so no one was around to hear your scream when you fell flat on your ass and bumped your head on the bonnet on the way down. Of course, that meant that the Cuttermans’ had somehow given you the slip and tonight was basically a waste.

Clint, however, seemed rather thrilled with the find. After jimmying the door open in an impressively low time, he clambered over the car seats and began rummaging around in the pockets. He re-emerged a few seconds later waving a small notebook. “Look what I found!”

“Awesome,” you said, reaching out to grab it and have a look. You frowned when he pulled it away and held the book tightly at his chest but then remembered how you were covered head to toe in mud. Swaying on your feet, you said, “Can we go now? You’ve got something to send back to HQ and I’ve got a concussion so if there’s nothing else to do here…”

“Successful mission, right,” Clint said, choosing to miss the heavy sarcasm in your voice. He jogged ahead to get the car restarted but a few seconds later poked his head out the door and said, “Uh, Y/N… We might have a problem… A pretty major one, at that.”

“What did you do?” you asked, lowering your head to the bonnet of the car in resignation. Of course the universe had it out for you, as if today hadn’t been bad enough already. Stroking the metal hood, not caring that it left a huge mud stain, you asked the engine, “Why me?”

Clint denied all responsibility and as it turned out he was right. While you - or rather he - had been busy searching someone had snuck back to your car and drilled a rather impressive hole in your gas tank. They’d then cut the brakes and messed with the suspension just to add insult to injury. What was worse was that they’d managed to do all of this while you were standing only a few hundred feet away and hadn’t noticed a single thing.

For all your combined technical expertise, there was literally nothing you could do for your car other than abandon it. That didn’t, however, mean you were willing to leave all the high-tech SHIELD modifications there with it. It took you and Clint two long hours to cut free all the computers and associated hardware without irreparably damaging it - even you weren’t brave enough to go to the accountants and claim expenses on outfitting another car with an entirely new system.

The morning sun was high in the sky by the time you and Clint started the long trek back towards the main road. You were met three miles later by an irritated looking Agent who was not best pleased at being called out so early in the morning to pick you both up and have you shed dried mud all over the backseat of his otherwise perfectly clean car. His day definitely wouldn’t improve when he learned that it was his duty to recover your abandoned car later too.

He glared at you with narrow eyes and mumbled something indecipherable, to which you replied, “Trust me, Agent, I know how you’re feeling.”

You could remember falling asleep on Clint’s shoulder but somehow when you woke up you were tucked into bed wearing a fresh pair of pjs. You sat up far too quickly and the world was spinning so much that it was utterly impossible to read the numbers on the clock without feeling like you were on some kind of hallucinogenic substance.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Clint said, pushing the door open with his foot. He set a tray down on the bedside table before moving a few pillows and cushions to help prop you up. Perching on the edge of the mattress, he patted your thigh and asked, “How you feeling, champ?”

“Like shit.”

“Take these, then.”

“You’re not supposed to take aspirin for a concussion. It might make it worse.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“That’s what the SHIELD medics told me the last time I came in to them after a bump on the head. They were quite insistent that it wouldn’t help. I just need some water and rest.”

“Well, there’s soup in the bowl and I’ll make you some tea as well. Sound good?”

You nodded, peering into the bowl on the bedside table and smiling to yourself. Glancing down at his hands, you felt your smile grow when you saw a new plaster in the collection. “Cut yourself on the can?”

“If you keep it up with that attitude I’ll just take your crappy canned soup away and eat it myself.” You mimed zipping your lips shut and winked at him, which seemed to be enough to make Clint reconsider. He smiled down at you and headed for the door to leave you in peace, pausing at the threshold when he remembered something else. “Oh! By the way, I got you this.”

From his pocket, Clint pulled out a small velvet bag and dropped it in your hands. He bounced on his feet as you opened the packet, uncertain whether to stay or just to bolt as his instincts were screaming at him to do. He stayed put.

You stared at the little charm bracelet in your hand, unable to find the words to express how you felt. The chain was made of a delicate silver and in the centre was a little charm in the shape of a daisy. It was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. Tearing your gaze away from the gift, you looked up at Clint and muttered a silent thank you.

Wringing his hands nervously, then deciding to shove them in his pockets instead, Clint’s cheeked turned a little red as he said, “Happy birthday, Y/N. I’m sorry it’s been a bit shit. I don’t have a cake or anything and I know you don’t like to celebrate - you have no idea how many people I had to ask to find out when your birthday was, since nobody seemed to know - but I figured I had to get you something. If it isn’t okay I’ll send it back and you can get something better. I’m terrible at this sort of thing, obviously, since I’m terrible at most things, but…”

“I love it, Clint,” you said, interrupting his self deprecating spiel. You couldn’t imagine why he’d gone to such effort for you, even finding something with your favourite flower on, but you could feel your heart swelling in your chest at the gesture. Your voice threatening to give away just how moved you were by the gift, you said slowly, “Seriously. And honestly, this isn’t the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Not even close. So stop apologising and come here.”

You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, brushing your lips against his cheek when you leant back. “Thank you, Clint.”

“Get some rest, darlin. Just gimme a shout if you need anything else. I’ll be right downstairs.”


	14. November 28th

“You know that Claudia and Aaron had the police around last week,” Alyson said, gossiping coming as naturally as breathing. Her gaze was fixed firmly out the window where Clint was in the garden fighting with a few bags of compost which he oh-so-kindly agreed to help move for you (only after you threatened to hide the coffee beans if he didn’t).

You knew Alyson had a crush on your partner but she could have at least tried to be a little more subtle about it. If not for your sake then maybe her own because every time Clint caught her staring he would flex his muscles and stretched the seams of his shirt to ridiculous levels. You weren’t sure that the delicate fabric - or Alyson - would survive another round of strain like that.

Tapping the table lightly with your nail to get her attention back, waving away her embarrassment as if it meant nothing, you asked lightly, “What for? I didn’t hear about that.”

“Oh, Claudia doesn’t want to publicise it so is keeping it very quiet. But the other night someone stole her car. You know the black BMW? Yeah, they snuck right into the garage at like four in the morning and just drove it away. They didn’t get a good shot of the guy’s face on the CCTV but they reckon they found it about an hour down the road. Two sets of tire tracks so someone else was there, too.”

“That’s so interesting,” you said, glancing out the window and subtly trying to get Clint’s attention. This was definitely something that he needed to be hearing. When subtle didn’t work, you excused yourself for a moment and practically ran into the garden.

The cold air hit you like a solid wall the moment you stepped outside and pulling on the sleeves of your jumper did nothing to help fight the November chill. As you wandered closer to Clint, the damp grass soaking your socks, he tapped his ear to let you know that his hearing aids were inside. Setting down the heavy bag of compost, he signed with filthy hands, _hug me._

 _Why?_ you responded.

You couldn’t understand his full response - your ASL still needed a bit lot of work and Clint was too set in his ways to bother learning more than the most important words in BSL (coffee and food) - but you managed to pick up the most important words: _Alyson_ and _watching._

A little awkwardly, you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. You soon found yourself relaxing in to the warmth of his body, melting against his chest as his arms snaked around your hips and pulled you closer. Clint instinctively held you tighter, protecting you from the cold chill of the air.

It wasn’t something you noticed often but today you were suddenly struck by how great Clint smelled. You should hardly have been surprised that his aftershave matched the autumnal atmosphere; a slightly strange but entirely intoxicating combination of burnt wood and lavender transported you to a mysterious forest far away from the miseries of suburbia. You slid a hand up Clint’s neck, tangling your fingers in the messy strands of hair at the base, pulling him closer until his scent enveloped you completely.

Only when Clint’s hand slid down to cup your ass cheek did you finally pull away, the moment completely ruined. You scowled at him but he just shrugged in the what else did you expect me to do kind of way. Rolling your eyes at the man-child, grateful that you were wearing dark trousers that mostly hit the filthy handprint, you glanced back to Alyson (who was pretending to play on her phone while actually watching you both like you were starring in some kind of romantic movie) and signed, _You need to hear this. It’s important._

 _I can’t hear anything,_ Clint retorted, earning him a thump on the arm. _Fine. After you._

“Hi, Clint,” Alyson sung, immediately pocketing her phone and making doe eyes at your partner. She didn’t seem deterred when he responded dismissively at best, more interested in finding his hearing aids than talking to her. He barely blinked when she told him how handsome he looked, although that may well have been because he had his back turned and didn’t hear; you knew first hand that he rarely passed up an opportunity to agree with how amazing he was.

“Where’d you hide them?” Clint asked, looking over his shoulder at you. “I left them on the side, right here. I swear. That way I’d be able to find them easily.”

“I didn’t move them,” you said, shuffling around the table so he had a clear view of your face. While you may have hidden the coffee now and again - always for Clint’s own good, after all no man should go through that much caffeine in an hour - you would never dare to touch his hearing aids. They were a part of him and messing with them was a line you refused to cross. “Did you check the coffee pot?”

“I wouldn’t have put them in the coffee pot, Y/N. I’m not that stupid.”

“Are you sure? It is the first place you’d think of going.” You stretched up to one of the cupboards, a smug smirk crossing your face. Lo and behold, inside the clean coffee pot were his hearing aids. You patted Clint on the shoulder and said, “Would you look at that? I guess I was right and you were wrong.”

“Whatever. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, as if it was actually a possibility that he would get his life together and remember where he left anything important. Slipping the aids into his ears, Clint lightly kissed your cheek as he turned away. “Thanks, honey.”

Focusing his attention on Alyson, he flashed her one of his most charming smiles and sat down at the counter with her. He was obviously hoping to get her on side enough to spill everything she knew about Claudia and Aaron and you were more than content to let him seeing how Alyson practically melted when he complimented her (truly terrible) homebaked organic cookies. If Clint could keep her on side then she would be a great unknowing informant.

She immediately repeated what she’d told you about the “stolen” car, so engrossed her story that she missed the way Clint glanced at you and mouthed, “That’s not good.”

“I told you,” you replied, flicking your gaze back to Alyson who coming to the end of her tale. Praying for your teeth, you took another of your friends cookies and asked, “Do the police have any idea of who took the car? Or who the second one belonged to?”

“I don’t know…” Alyson said slowly, regarding you a little cautiously.

Trying a slightly more friendly approach, Clint dunked his cookie in his coffee, hoping that it would soften it up a little, and smiled. “Who’s looking into it for them? It’s not Alfonso King, is it?”

“It is! How do you know him?”

“At the Halloween party, Aaron introduced me to him. Told me that if I ever had a problem that Alfonso is the best. I didn’t realise he got involved with petty burglaries, though. Especially not when the items are found in one piece. He seemed much more important than that.”

“Normally, he is. Truth be told, they are worried that it might be more than just a petty burglary,” Alyson said, leaning in and lowering her voice, as if the Cuttermans might be able to hear her gossiping from the end of the road. Honestly, at this point, you wouldn’t have been surprised if everyone in this neighbour had a sixth sense for gossip, seeing just how much went around. “Claudia thinks that she is being stalked and Aaron is completely paranoid that someone is trying ruin his business. He thinks that someone from the rival company is employing a PI to dig up dirt on them.”

Clint feigned surprise and asked, “Is there much dirt to dig up?”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t know about that,” Alyson said, her cooperation drying up in an instant. Clint should have realised that she wasn’t as stupid as she immediately appeared. No one could spend so many years around people like Claudia and Aaron and not pick up something from them.

“You were telling me earlier about your son’s football game?” you said, hoping the left field question would dispel a little a of the thick tension. Thankfully there was little that Alyson liked talking about more than her superstar son and she launched into a vivid account of how he’d managed to save the game for his team last week with a goal in the last three seconds.

You zoned out of the tale and began signing to Clint under the counter, deciding how best to proceed with this new information. You needed to know whether or not the investigating officers had put you and Clint on a list of potential interest. The last thing you needed was to be watched by the police while you were watching Aaron and Claudia. While your work was entirely sanctioned and legal, getting the attention of the local police would seriously hamper your efforts.

It would be especially bad if Alfonso King and the rest of his department were somehow involved with the Syndicate. You couldn’t risk it getting back to anyone involved in the cartel that SHIELD were investigating them. This needed to be contained as soon as possible but you could not come to an agreement over how to proceed by arguing under the table, especially as you couldn’t fully express yourself or understand what Clint was trying to say either.

A little abruptly, you interrupted Alyson’s story and said, “I have a really bad headache. I need to go lie down. Can we finish this tomorrow?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Alyson said, a little flustered for a moment before shoving her confusion, anger and sadness so far down that they may well have disappeared all together. She grabbed her bags and gently patted your shoulder, muttering a quiet, “Feel better.”

“You didn’t have to be rude,” Clint said when the door clicked shut.

“As if you actually care about her.”

“You’re right, I don’t care about her. Do you think we should report this back to SHIELD?”

“What else would you have us… No. No way.”

Clint looked up from his coffee mug, his eyes crinkling around the side in an expression you were coming to hate. It always meant he was up to something. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You want to sneak in to the police station and steal the files on the case.”

“Not steal. Just read. It’s the only way we’ll find out what they know about us.”

You viciously rubbed your temples, his insane suggestion actually manifesting a real headache. He had to be joking. There was definitely a better way to manage the situation. Surely. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you said slowly, “We could just stop surveillance for a while. Take a step back and wait for it to blow over. Tell the guys at SHIELD and have them sort out a trail to get the cops searching in a direction away from us. There are literally hundreds of other ways to deal with this situation.”

“Those are so boring, though.”

“I know you’re bored here but we can’t just go around breaking and entering for your entertainment. And certainly not a police station.” Clint began to pout at your hard tone, his eyes wide as he stirred his coffee with his little finger. When he finally looked up at you, you thought your heart would melt. He looked so genuinely hurt that you were rejecting his stupid idea, like it had been the only thing he’d ever wanted in his life and you had just out right refused.

Already feeling your resolve weakening, certainly not helped when he began batting his eyelashes and stuck his bottom lip out even further. It was, quite frankly, a ridiculous sight and yet, for some reason, it was working. Shaking your head, you said adamantly, “Don’t look at me like that. Stop it. We are not breaking in to a police station.”

“We wouldn’t have to break anything if you didn’t want to.” Clint slid his hand across the counter and rested it on top of yours, stroking his thumb over your wrist. “Please, baby? Come on. You know you wanna get out there and actually do something rather than sitting around and waiting for trouble to find us.”

“I hate you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Truly terrible,” Clint agreed, the biggest grin on his face.

“If we get caught, not only will we face a good few years in prison but we also risk destabilising the entire case that SHIELD is building against the Syndicate.”

“We won’t get caught. I promise. No one will ever know we were there.” The worst possible time for a show of his clumsiness, Clint accidentally knocked a plate off the counter, sending shards flying in every direction. He gave you a lopsided grin and patted your hand gently. “Oops?”

Closing your eyes in utter despair, you sighed “We are _so_ going to jail for this.”


	15. December 5th

“You know, I’m actually a little claustrophobic,” you said, staring at the tiny air duct above your head. From the rough estimates you’d made during recon, you knew you would be able to fit in through it but now you were beginning to doubt yourself. It was definitely going to be a tight squeeze. “Maybe you should do this alone. I’ll just wait in the car…”

“You’ll be fine,” Clint assured you, patting you heartily on the back. “You want a hand up or can you manage it on your own?”

Not giving you the time to answer, he linked his fingers together and crouched down. Shaking your head in despair, wondering how this was really your life, you stepped into his hand and held back a scream when he boosted you up - with a surprising ease - so you were sitting on his shoulders. You gripped on to the grating with one hand to steady yourself and used the other to remove the screws from the wall, all the time trying to maintain your balance on top of Clint.

It was a much harder job than you’d anticipated, certainly not helped by the fact you were doing it in the near pitch black, but soon enough you managed to pry the vent grating free. Pulling yourself up into the vent, helped to no end by Clint ungracefully shoving you into the small space, you began to crawl forward and tried not to think too hard about how the thin metals walls were closing in on you or threatening to break beneath your weight.

“You okay up there?” Clint asked, his whispered query bouncing around inside the metal shaft and making it sound way too loud in the otherwise silent police station.

“Fine,” you grumbled, feeling anything but. “You?”

“Can’t complain. I’ve got a great view.”

“Stop staring at my ass.”

“Kinda hard when you’re crawling in front of me. I’m just saying, though, you should wear your uniform more often, Agent. It does wonders for your figure and I am…” Feeling your murderous glare rather than seeing it, Clint smirked to himself and said, “Shutting up now.”

“Damn right you are.”

Not soon enough you came to the opening above Alfonso King’s office. Doing a quick check to ensure no-one was around, you pulled the tiles from the ceiling and carefully lowered yourself into the room. You kept your back to the wall as you shuffled around to where the security camera was placed and attached a small bug to the camera which would keep the image frozen while you snooped around searched for intelligence.

“All clear,” you called up.

Clint landed with an incredible grace and immediately moved over to the desk, flicking through the open case files in search for something useful. While he did that, you had the dual role of cracking the computer password and keeping a look out down the hallway for any security guards that may happen to wander by.

It took you a good fifteen minutes to break through the security on the computer system but once you were in you had access to the entire police database. Convinced that you’d managed to deactivate the log system so no-one would be able to see a record of your searches, you typed in yours and Clint’s names and waited with baited breath.

“Anything?” Clint asked, frowning at the pile of paper in his hands.

“Not yet. It’s still thinking. Wait… You’ve come up clean except a few minor offences for… Public nudity? Really, Clint?” You couldn’t help the warmth in your cheeks at the images that came to mind, not helped at all by Clint’s roguishly charming smile from across the room. Clearing your throat, you checked your own name and were relieved to find that nothing came up.

A gentle vibration from your watch told you that it was time to start packing up but you couldn’t fight your curiosity and began running a search on Claudia and Aaron. Seconds later, Clint looked up from the files, his eyes wide in the dim light, and hissed, “Did you see that?”

You followed his gaze into the hallway where the unmistakable light of a torch was searching the space for intruders. You’d known that they would see the light from the computer on security camera in the corridor but had hoped you’d get a little more time than this.

Turning back to Clint, you saw his legs dangling from the ceiling as he already made his exit. He hissed for you to get a move on, stretching his arm down to give you a helping hand, but in the same moment the Cuttermans’ record came up and you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to read the file.

The torchlight got closer and closer until you had no choice but to crawl behind the desk and hide. Frantically tucking your legs under the table, you held your breath as the office door squeaked open. “I know you’re in here.”

You counted the footsteps as the guard got closer, comparing it to the map of the office which you held in your mind. When you were certain - or at least certainly hoping - that he wouldn’t be able to see you make your escape, you slowly crawled around the desk and dived towards the door. Too slow, he caught your shadow moving in the dark and yelled for you to stop.

Naturally, you did not do as he demanded. You ran. Fast.

Skidding around the corner, you wracked your brain for the elusive details of your emergency exit strategy. You kept a careful look out for the CCTV as you ran, ducking your head and cover your face with your hands whenever you came into view of one of the cameras.

You slammed your body against the fire escape door to force it open. Taking the stairs two or three at a time, bashing against the hard concrete wall as you used it as a platform off of which to jump and turn, your heart was pounding in your chest. Your lungs were on fire from the sudden burst of activity but there was no choice other than to push on.

The guard was only a few floors above you when you reached the exit. From one look you knew that no amount of physical force would open it but luckily you were prepared for such an issue. You whipped a small device from your belt and stabbed the high tech lock, jumping back and covering your eyes as the sparks flew. The door clicked open a moment later.

Swearing to yourself at the barb wire fence with which you were now faced, you whipped your jacket off and began climbing without hesitation. Throwing the leather over the sharp coiled wires, you scrambled over the top, too concerned with escaping with your face unseen to worry about the scratches on your arms or the now sorry state of your jacket.

“Took you enough time,” Clint grunted as you jumped in to the car. He frowned when he saw the state of your jacket, more than slightly concerned by the way it was hanging open off your shoulders. “What happened to you?”

“I had a disagreement with a fence.”

Clint rolled his eyes as he turned the keys in the ignition, only to then swear loudly when the engine refused to start. A few seconds later, as if you hadn’t had enough bad luck this evening already, you both caught sight of the guard storming around the corner and swore again.

All of a sudden, Clint’s hand was sliding around your neck, turning your face towards him and drawing you in to an intense kiss. He tangled his fingers in your hair and let out a breathy moan as you half clambered, half fell into his lap, to straddle him. One arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

He pushed your jacket off your shoulders and tugged it down, exposing your bra. Clint cupped your breast through the thin fabric, his gentle, almost reverential, touch so at odds with the roughness of his lips against yours.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured breathlessly. Clint rolled his hips beneath you, the pressure against your core sending a burning wave of desire through your body. “So fucking gorgeous.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement at your disappointed whine when he broke the kiss and his lips turned up into a beautiful smile. You found yourself matching his expression, following the line of his sharp jaw with your fingers. Time slowed as you held his gaze, lazily exploring each other’s bodies. The heat in your gut mellowed to something sweeter. He was so handsome like this; the only tension in his body that of pleasure. You leant down and stole a brief kiss. “Clint, I…”

“Open up!” A harsh knock on the window pulled you from the moment. Clint let the window down and you shuddered at the freezing gust of wind that blew through the car. You crossed your arms over your chest in a desperate attempt at decency, well aware that it had little effect.

The guard’s eyes hovered over your chest before flicking angrily back to Clint. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like, mate? Bit of privacy, yeah?” Clint asked, tracing patterns over the small of your back with his nails. It sent shivers down your spine and you shifted awkwardly in his lap, which naturally only made matters worse when you felt his length pressing against you. Clint scratched your skin a little harder, enough to leave a mark you were sure, in an attempt to get you to stop moving.

“Uh, right,” the man said, not really sure where to rest his gaze. “You can’t park here.”

“There’s no signs,” Clint pointed out. “And when the mood hits, you gotta go with it, am I right? And there’s just no satisfying this one. Just last week, we were…”

“We’ll leave,” you interrupted, not wanting to hear whatever fantasy Clint was about to weave. Clambering off Clint’s lap, ignoring the almost crippling wave of selfconsciousness as you purposefully stuck your chest out to keep the guard distracted, you said gently, “We’re real sorry, Officer. Good night.”

By some miracle, the engine decided to start working again and you were able to drive off without another incident. The moment you were out of sight of the police station, you reached over and whacked Clint on the arm. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“One: You seemed pretty in to it, so don’t get all stroppy with me,” Clint said, rubbing the spot you’d punched even though it barely hurt. Holding up a second finger, he said, “Two: Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. He was so busy staring at your tits that he didn’t realise that you were wearing the same jacket as the woman he chased through the station and didn’t question the scratch marks over your body. So maybe, instead of hitting me, try ‘thank you, Clint, for thinking on your feet and getting me out of a situation that was entirely my fault’.”

Tugging your jacket back into place and zipping it up right to the collar, you hissed, “My fault? You were the one that wanted to do this!”

“Well, you were the one who wouldn’t leave the computer alone. You should have followed me back into the vents the moment we saw the flashlight. What were you even looking at that was worth risking everything for?”

“The Cutterman’s file.”

Clint’s expression immediately changed from annoyance to intrigue. “Find anything?”

You shook your head and sighed, “No, only their statements of the “robbery”. But I did find a foot note on the report.”

“What did it say?”

“It just said that the case had been referred to Department 31 for external handling, special circumstances.” Clint’s forehead crinkled in recognition, so you explained, “SHIELD have dealt with them before. No one really knows what they do but the name keeps popping up everywhere. They were even mentioned in a set of files taken from a HYDRA base. They’re the big deal, Clint.”

“You did good, Y/N,” Clint said, sounding genuinely impressed. He reached over to pat you on the shoulder but must have noticed how you were sitting against the door, creating as much as a gap between you and him as possible. Sounding a little uncertain of himself, he murmured, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I should have given you a warning or something. I know that’s what we agreed to.”

“It’s fine. I suppose it wasn’t entirely horrible.”

“Gee, thanks, Y/N. Way to boost a guy’s self esteem.” Clint paused for a moment before smirking, “Maybe we need to try again. See if I can do better.”

“No chance, Barton. That never needs to happen again.” Wracking your mind for a way to divert the conversation, you asked, “Why don’t you tell me about those public nudity charges instead.”

All too excited to share the tale, Clint began, “Ah, well, back in 2012 I knew this guy…”


	16. December 12th

Normally, cocktail nights at Claudia’s were a casual affair. Jeans were welcomed - so long as they came from the right kind of shop - and you could slum it in a t-shirt without fear of too much judgement. You’d actually come to quite enjoy yourself at those evenings. The drinks were amazing and the company was, most of the time, tolerable. On the rare occasion that it wasn’t, you could just sit back and face your sorrows with an incredibly overpriced bottle of wine for company.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight was Claudia’s Christmas party. It wasn’t a huge event like her Halloween fundraiser had been. Instead, it was just ‘close friends’ - which still somehow encompassed the entire neighbourhood and all the local busy bodies - invited for fancy canapes and a good, old fashioned gossip. As if that didn’t sound bad enough already, Claudia had also boasted how her son (who was entirely talentless and would really have rather stayed at boarding school for the holidays) would be playing ~~unrecognisable~~ Christmas classics on the piano all night.

Not only were you expected to dress to impress, squishing yourself in a dress two sizes too small and wobbling around on five inch heels all night, but you were also under orders to stake out any potential links to the Syndicate and now Department 31 as well. Coming down with a cold, you were struggling to focus your mind on anything for more than about five minutes. An entire evening of surveillance was bound to drain you completely and you found yourself wishing for the whole thing to be over before you’d even left the house.

What was worse was that, as this was an officially requested surveillance by SHIELD, you couldn’t even drink. You’d have to get through this completely sober, quite the terrifying thought when you remembered just how many scummy politicians would be there.

But, it wasn’t all terrible. As you saw it, there was one major brightside to this entire evening and you were staring right at it. Clint, in one of his tight purple shirts, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, tie hanging loosely around his neck as if he’d just closed a billion dollar business deal. Unprofessional as it may be to ogle your partner from across the bedroom, you couldn’t help but admire just how great he looked tonight.

“Are you even listening to me?” Clint asked, waving his hand in the air.

“What? Yes, of course I am.”

Clint crossed his arms over his chest, a knowing smirk on his face. He could be such a big headed know-it-all sometimes, which was remarkable, really, seeing how he had the least idea of anyone what was actually going on most of the time. “What did I say, then?”

You paused for a long moment before snapping, “Shut up. It’s not like you listen to every word I say. I know what we have to do. I don’t need you parroting instructions to me like I am some rookie. I read the files - which is something you can’t say - so I know who we are looking for. Just leave it alone, alright?”

“I actually asked if you wanted help with your dress,” Clint frowned. “Are you… Is something wrong, Y/N? With the mission? With us?”

You felt a pang in your chest at his concern. There was no snark or sarcasm beneath his question; Clint was genuinely worried about your wellbeing. It was more than just the general concern of a field partner or even a Supervising Officer, which he technically was - even if he never acted like it. He was asking out of real friendship and that made you even more nervous to answer than if you were being asked by a superior.

Giving him a soft smile, trying hard to hide the fact your hands were trembling, you said, “I’m just not feeling one hundred percent, that’s all. Sorry for shouting at you.”

Much to your surprise, Clint sat down on the bed behind your dressing table and met your gaze in the mirror. Elbows on his knees, he leant forward and asked, “How can I help?”

“It’s just a cold. I’ll get over it.”

“Something else is bothering you, Y/N. You’ve been distant all week. I mean, yesterday I drank three pots of coffee before breakfast and you barely blinked. Normally you’d be all over my ass for that. So, come on. Tell me what’s up.”

Fiddling with your bracelet, you swore when you snapped the latch. You tossed it aside and pulled another from your box, your expression softening when you saw which you’d picked: Clint’s silver daisy chain. Setting it carefully back into your jewellery box, you pulled another out at random and insisted, “It’s nothing, really, Clint.”

“It’s because I kissed you, isn’t it?”

You whipped your head up, eyes almost comically wide in the mirror. “What?”

Clint stretched out on the bed, leaning back far too casually for this to be an easy conversation for him to have. “I thought so. Look, I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It was the easiest way to get the guard to leave us alone.”

“I know that. Really, you don’t need to apolo-”

“I do. Obviously I got a little too enthusiastic and put you in an awkward position. It’s made you feel uncomfortable and things have been weird between us. I’m sorry for that. I just want you to know that I’d never push you into anything you didn’t want.”

“Clint, please, you don’t need to say this. I know you would _never_ -”

“Just wanted us to be on the same page. So you don’t have to worry or feel awkward or whatever. Anyway… We’re good? Right?” He let out a deep sigh when you nodded, like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. A bright smile on his face, hiding his true emotions from view, Clint sat up and squeezed your shoulder. He pushed himself off the bed and headed for the door, pausing to look back at you a moment too long to be casual.

***

“How’s business going, Aaron?” you asked, taking a long sip from your oversized wine glass. Less than five minutes in, you’d decided you couldn’t do this without some kind of alcohol to keep yourself sane so were savouring the single glass of wine you’d allowed yourself. “Claudia told me last week that you were closing some really big deal. That’s so exciting.”

“It’s not _that_ big a deal,” he said, without a hint of humility. It was something you’d noticed early on with Aaron; he was proud of his work and, like most men in high powered jobs, took great pleasure in sharing his achievements.

Glancing over his shoulder at a group of men nearby, you tried to put names to faces and work out who you needed to keep an eye on. You had been on your way to join Alyson, who was unknowingly standing in the perfect position to overhear their conversation, when Aaron had cornered you. Not wanting to seem rude, or set of any alarm bells, you allowed Aaron to veer you of course and top up your wine glass. Unfortunately, now you were stuck talking to him but you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to get a little more information from him.

Smiling at Aaron as you refocused your attention on him, you dramatically rolled your eyes and said, “You sell yourself short. Three million dollars is very impressive. I still don’t really understand what your company does, though. Clint tried to explain it to me but numbers just really aren’t my thing.”

“Oh, it’s very simple really. We buy and sell shares. Sometimes we help failing companies to assess their assets and then find investors to help keep them afloat.”

“You don’t help them out of the goodness of your heart, though, surely?”

“We take a modest share of their assets to cover our services. I assure you we really are one of the best at what we do. Someone has to help the little people take a step into the big wide world.”

“It sounds like you really make a difference, Aaron.”

“I’m just a cog in the machine, Y/N.”

“You run the company, don’t you? That must make you the biggest cog of them all.”

“Biggest cock? Honey, you must be forgetting about me,” Clint said, appearing out of nowhere. He wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you against his side and placed a surprisingly gentle kiss on your temple.

Feeling the heat rising to your cheeks at the images that your brain conjured at his words, you took another long sip of wine and corrected your partner. “Cog, darling. We’re talking about Aaron’s latest business deal. It’s very interesting.”

You let your attention wander as Clint and Aaron talked, taking mental notes over who was talking to who and, more interestingly, who _wasn’t_ speaking at all. It was almost always the silent ones at parties like this that you needed to keep an eye on. Especially if they were a politician, the kind of person who usually lived for this kind of socialising. You followed them around the room, watching carefully for any kind of unusual interactions.

However, far too quickly, you found yourself distracted by Clint. It started out as him just gently stroking your hip with his thumb - a surprisingly reassuring gesture, you had to admit. As the conversation progressed, though, Clint became more bold in his touches. He drew swirling patterns over the lacy material of your dress as his hand slipped lower, fingers teasing at the hem of your dress.

Biting your tongue, neither wanting to make a scene nor for Clint to actually stop, you tried to focus on something else. Perhaps it was stupid to stare at your partner’s arms again but you did it anyway. There was just something completely and utterly distracting about his muscular forearms. The prominent veins, the slight tan. His strong fingers…

“I thought Dan Edwards was in charge of that.”

There was a long moment of silence between you as you realised that the words had come out of your mouth. You looked between Clint and Aaron, resisting the urge to bite your bottom lip as you realised what a huge mistake you’d just made. In almost comic book fashion, you in turn asked “what?”, the pitch of the question rising higher each time, until you finally broke the chain. “I’m sorry, I must have been thinking of someone else.”

“Wasn’t Edwards an accountant for your firm back in New York?” Clint asked, swooping in and offering a perfectly reasonable explanation for your slip up. “Skinny bloke, ginger hair, terrible taste in ties.”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I think the wine is messing with my pills.”

“Not feeling well?” Aaron asked, seeming almost genuinely concerned. He took the wine glass from your hand and put it on the tray of a passing waiter, gesturing towards a nearby seat for you to rest on.

You shook your head but thanked him for the offer. “Just a bad cold but I think maybe I should be getting home to bed before it gets any worse. Sorry to leave so early. Could you thank Claudia for inviting us and let her know that I probably won’t be able to make Friday’s drinks? I don’t think my cold is going to get any better this week.”

“Of course. Please, look after yourself. Clint, take care of your beautiful wife. Make sure she wants for nothing. I’ll send someone to fetch your coats.” Leaning in to kiss your cheek, Aaron squeezed your arm and said, “Get well soon, Y/N.”

You didn’t say a word to Clint until you were back in your house and then the first thing you did was apologise. “I’m so sorry. It just slipped out.”

“Who is Dan Edwards? It’s not a name I recognise but it definitely caught Aaron’s attention.”

“A name in one of the Department 31 files. Minor player, suspected to be barely more than a messenger. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. It’s fine,” Clint insisted, hanging your heavy coat up by the door before following you up to your room. Undoing his tie, stealing glances at you in the mirror, he asked, “What happened, though? What caused the slip?”

You kicked off your shoes with so much power that they left a dent in the wall and one of the thin heels snapped in two. Not even surprised that this was how your day was ending, you sat on the edge of your mattress and sighed. “I was distracted.”

“What by?”

“I… don’t want to tell you that.”

“Come on, Y/N. You can tell me,” he said, sitting next to you the bed. Your elbows knocked against each other and his hand was warm as he rested it on your leg. It was hard to ignore the knot in your stomach as his fingers began crawling up your thigh. Any other evening, you might have given in to your desires - admitted your attraction to him - but something didn’t feel right and you couldn’t shake the dark feeling.

All it took was a single sniff of his breath for you to work out what it was. You shoved him away, rolling your eyes at him. “You’re drunk, Clint.”

“Only a little. Maybe a lot. I don’t know. I feel fine.” To his credit, while he clearly wanted to try and pull you back, Clint kept his hands to himself and made absolutely no attempt to force you to him. “Why aren’t you drunk, too?”

“After our cock up with the car, and then my screw up in the police station, you may be protected by your reputation but I don’t have that luxury. I cannot have anything else go against me. I’m on thin fucking ice as it is. Do you not remember how hard I had to beg to get this placement? I’ve got no more favours to pull in SHIELD and I can’t afford any more mistakes. And this?” You rose from the bed and stood by the window, staring out into the darkness with your arms folded over your chest. “This would be a mistake, Clint.”

“Baby, come back to bed…”

Grabbing your dressing gown and throwing it on over the ridiculous dress, you shook your head and said emphatically, “No. I’m gonna go type up the report downstairs. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”


	17. December 19th

“We have a problem, Clint.”

“Look, I know that you’re angry at me for using the last of your strawberry body scrub but you know that my skin is super sensitive, especially in winter…”

You shot him a dark glare, cutting him off before he tried to justify himself any further. Of all the things to worry about right now, this was not at the top of your list. It didn’t mean that you weren’t annoyed but there really were bigger problems.

Slamming his computer shut, ignoring his (admittedly valid) protests about not having securely logged out of SHIELD’s remote systems, you hissed, “Claudia and Aaron are on their way over for a chat.”

Clint caught your wrists and pulled you down onto the sofa beside him. The roughness of his thumbs against your sensitive skin sent shiver down your spine but you made no attempt to pull away. Steadily holding your gaze, Clint said, “Take a deep breath and relax. I’ll go downstairs and get a few bottles of the posh wine. We’ve survived their delightful company before. We can again.”

“You don’t get it.” You shook your head, wishing that this was something wine could fix. “They know. That we’re spying on them. They’re on their way over to confront us.”

“You can’t know that.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew that they were true; you could see it in his face. This was something that had been playing on both of your minds since last week, when you’d slipped up at the party. Taking a deep breath, Clint said levelly, “Do you have a plan to get us out of this? Do we need to call for extraction?”

“I have a few ideas but you’re gonna have to trust me… I know it’s hard but I’m gonna need you stay pretty quiet while I tell them…”

A knock on the door tore you from your explanation. Clint remained close by your side as you went to welcome your unwanted guests, his hand resting comfortingly on the small of your back. His strong, steady presence kept your nerves at bay and you managed to conjure a smile as you opened the door.

“Claudia, Aaron. What a nice surprise. Please, come on in.” You took their coats and hung them on the rack, gesturing for them to follow Clint into the living room. When their backs were turned, you couldn’t help from having a quick rummage in their pockets to check for… anything, really but your search came up short.

You diverted into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and four glasses. Alcohol might not solve this problem but at least it would make it easier to deal with. It certainly couldn’t make it that much worse.

You returned to an overly polite conversation about something tremendously dull and everyone happily accepted the wine you offered around. It surprised you how nervous Claudia and Aaron were, seeing how they held the upper hand here. Claudia’s usually perfect nails were chipped every so slightly from her constant picking. Her smile wobbled as she thanked you for your hospitality.

Aaron hid his nerves better, undoubtedly helped by the fact he dealt with the worst kinds of people daily. You’d have thought that hanging around with sleazy politicians, lawyers and corporate bankers would have made him a better liar. You struck that thought. He was a good liar. You were just better.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” you asked, sitting so close to Clint on the loveseat that you were practically in his lap. It took you less than a second to relax into him when his arms wrapped around your waist, handing coming to rest in your lap. You leant back against him, the slow rise and fall of his chest grounding you and keeping you from succumbing to your own panic.

“What we have here is special. It is unlike other neighbourhoods,” Claudia said slowly. “We are all about honesty. It binds us together and keeps us living in harmony, like one big family.”

You nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on her. Channelling the same level of fake sincerity as when you told your grandmother you absolutely loved the sweater she brought you for Christmas last year, you said, “Of course. That’s what drew us to this part of the country in the first place; that strong sense of community.”

“Indeed. And family would never keep secrets from one another, would they?”

“I suppose not.”

“We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt here.”

“Absolutely not. We’re on the same page there.”

“You see, I’m not sure we are,” Aaron said, interrupting whatever Claudia was about to say. Regardless of how precarious a position you were currently in, it angered you to no end that he had so rudely cut off his wife. He misunderstood your surprise as fear over being caught out and had the nerve to smirk.

Mission be damned, you wanted to wipe that stupid expression of his face.

You fought not to jump in surprise when Clint dug a nail into your thigh. You responded by digging an elbow into his rib-cage, instinct overriding your confusion as to exactly why he’d done that. Only when Clint’s hold around your waist tightened did you realise that he was trying to hold you back from launching yourself at the man and clawing his eyes out.

Forcing yourself to relax, you smiled sweetly at Aaron and said, “Well, it’s true we may be reading from slightly different books. I’m certain that the authors share some common ideas, though.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Hmm. That’s quite obvious. I suppose you’ve heard of David Jenkins?” The colour drained from his cheeks and you fought to quash the victorious cheer bursting to escape your lips. “He happens to be the author of my favourite book.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. But a close second would have to be Vanquish by Maya Harding.”

Even Claudia paled at the mention of her. Tugging on the edge of her blouse, she wrapped the delicate fabric around her finger so tightly that it tore the stitching. Both she and Aaron were waiting on the edge of their seats, literally, for you to break the silence but you were quite content to let the sweat it out for a few more seconds.

It was Claudia who gathered her courage first. By her side, Aaron was still visibly shaking and looked as if you’d slapped him round the face with your show. Claudia took a deep breath to steady herself - followed by an incredibly long sip of wine - before asking, “You know, Y/N, I don’t think you ever told us what you do.”

“I’m an editor, actually. That’s how I know David and Maya. I help them fix problems in their narrative and clean up their mistakes.”

“And she’s so good at it,” Clint cooed, resting his chin on your shoulder and squeezing your thigh. “Truly, her way with words is something to die for.”

“Thanks, honey.” You twisted your neck to place a soft kiss on his cheek, you lips lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary. Hastily glancing over at the clock on the wall, you looked back to the Cuttermans and said, “Gosh, is that the time? I’ve gotta get across town for a meeting with a client so if there’s nothing else…”

Claudia and Aaron shared a flustered look, their mouths gaping like fish as they tried to find the words to reply. They were having some kind of silent argument, which was frankly hilarious to watch. Their gazes flickered towards you and Clint a few times, before frantically looking away once again.

Shaking her head, having finally reached an unspoken decision with her husband, Claudia said with an obviously fake cheer, “Uh… No, I don’t think there is. Sorry for troubling you. See you on Friday for drinks with Alyson?”

“Naturally.”

“Great. See you then. Good luck with your client.”

“Oh, I don’t need luck but thanks anyway, dear.”

You escorted the pair to the door and let out a deep sigh as you closed it behind them. Turning around, you bumped straight into Clint’s chest. “God, Barton. Give me some space, will you?”

“What the hell just happened, Y/N? Who are those people? Dave and Maria?”

“David and Maya,” you corrected, slipping past him and grabbing the bottle of wine on the table. “Maya Harding is one of the Syndicate ring leaders. She’s in the top family circle. Multiple agencies have tried to take her down but the evidence always falls through in court.”

“And David? Who is he meant to be?”

“I worked a case a few years ago and came across the name. Dangerous man. Seriously dangerous. He is known to be friends with Maya. Runs favours for the Syndicate every now and then but the price is always heavy.”

Clint dramatically threw his hands in the air to stop you going any further. “Let me get this straight. You told them that we work for gangsters?”

“No. I told them we work with gangsters. Big difference.”

“Why on Earth would you do that?”

“To get them off our backs for a while! It will take the Syndicate a few weeks to verify that we actually know Jenkins. He doesn’t deal with anyone personally so they will just be going round and round with the minions. By the time they finally get them to give up an answer, I’ll have found some way to tie us to him.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. Do I have to think of everything? We can say we’re investigating Alyson’s husband. He’s boring. Exactly the kind of guy that the FBI might use as a plant. He’s in the same social circles as Aaron and there’s every chance that he has actually come across some of David’s minions.”

“This is pretty far fetched, Y/N. How on Earth did you get Aaron to believe such a load of bull?”

“Vanquish.” Met with his blank stare, you explained, “It’s a Syndicate code word. Paired with Maya’s name, there was no way he would question that we were on the same side. Or at least that we weren’t on opposite sides.”

“And you know that how? That sort of thing gets changed frequently and definitely isn’t on SHIELD files.”

You tapped the side of your nose, downing the last of the wine in your glass. Sending him a wink, you teased, “I can’t give away all my secrets now, can I? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a way into David Jenkin’s private servers to leave some breadcrumbs for the Syndicate.”


	18. December 25th

You should have known not to get your hopes up. If there was one thing you’d learned over the past few months it was that giving Clint any kind of responsibility was a dangerous thing. Why you’d believed that he could be trusted cooking the turkey was beyond you. It was a moment of madness. He’d fluttered his eyelashes and even got down on his knees to tell you that he was absolutely capable of taking a dead bird out the freezer, showing it in the oven and checking on it every hour.

Unfortunately, and completely unsurprisingly, Clint got distracted. In fairness, to start it had actually been with useful jobs. Christmas Eve, as the turkey was cooking away in the oven, he’d cut all the vegetables, prepared the pigs in blankets and even made a Christmas pudding (which was in fact a regular coffee cake decorated with a sprig of holly and some icing sugar, but it was the thought that counted).

He’d been so busy preparing the rest of the dinner for Christmas day, advocating a rare and unusual attitude for him that it was better to have everything ready than just wing it, that he completely forgot about the bird. Even though he’d had to open the oven to bake his cake, Clint had barely thought about the turkey. After all, it was barely half way through its cooking time and nothing was on fire. Yet. 

The real problem came when he left the kitchen and joined you in the living room. You were watching your traditional Christmas Eve films when he curled up at your side, resting his head sleepily in your lap. You automatically began playing with his hair, running your fingers through the short lengths and taking great pleasure in making a mess of his perfectly styled do. Within ten minutes, he was snoring and you were too comfortable to bother moving. You draped a blanket over him and returned your attention to the film, eventually drifting off yourself.

When you woke the next morning, you were shivering. You frowned, convinced that you’d not turned the underfloor heating off before falling asleep. As you looked around the living room, you noticed that none of your tech was working. The TV screen was black and none of the Christmas fairy lights were on, which honestly made the tree look a little depressing.

Careful not to wake Clint, you stretched your arm out and tried to switch on a nearby lamp. The switch clicked but there was no light. Extricating yourself from beneath the sleeping lump on your lap, you traipsed over to the window and looked down the street to see that it wasn’t just your house; it looked like absolutely no-one had power.

Pulling your jumper sleeves down and over your hands, you wrinkled your nose at the odd, sharp smell in the air. It took you a moment to realise what it was. Even before you opened the over you knew what you’d see but it still caught you by surprise. There, on the middle shelf, was your turkey burnt to a crisp. Who’d have guessed it was possible to kill the poor thing twice.

You suddenly felt very grateful for the power outage as, without it, your entire house would probably have caught fire and burnt down. That didn’t mean you weren’t going to kill Clint for this, though.

Crouching down in front of the sofa, you shook his shoulders to wake him. You were stunned into silence when his first instinct was to lean forward and kiss you. He brushed his lips so gently over yours that you could almost have imagined it, if not for the fact that he did it again and whispered lazily, “Good morning. Merry Christmas.”

“Uh, okay. Yeah. Merry Christmas, Clint.”

“So what’s the plan for to… This isn’t the bedroom. What am I doing down here?”

“You’re right, it’s not. You - we - fell asleep on the sofa last night.”

“Cool,” he said, still half asleep. Clint pushed himself upright and blinked a few times before frowning, noticing the lack of flashing lights and the disconcerting quiet in the room. He tapped his hearing aids to make sure that they were still working, confused when he found they were. “What’s going on?”

“Powers out for the entire street.”

“Oh. Fair enough. What’s that smell?” He wrinkled his nose and it took him less than two seconds to realise where it was coming from. Clint leapt up from the sofa and ran into the kitchen, slumping against the island when he saw the black, charred lump of meat which had once been a turkey.

He hit his forehead on the worktop and kicked the nearest cabinet so hard that you feared he’d broken his toe. Clint barely seemed to notice, though, mumbling over and over, “God, Y/N, I’m sorry. I just wanted to prove I could do something useful and I screwed it and now Christmas is ruined. I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey,” you breathed, rubbing circles on his back. “It’s alright.”

“I can’t do anything without screwing it up. I’m just a waste of space.”

“Don’t you dare say that, honey. You are absolutely not a waste of space. Come on, help me set a fire and I’ll make you some coffee.”

“No power. No coffee machine. How can you make coffee without Lottie?”

Shaking your head at the fact that that was what he’d decided to name the latest coffee machine - admittedly it was better than deja brew or bean-jamin but it still wasn’t great - you pulled him upright and wrapped your arm around his waist. Hoisting him up on to his feet, you gently said, “That’s what the fire is for, dear. Humanity has survived for thousands of years without machines to make their coffee. We can certainly manage a day.”

It took awhile but you eventually got a fire going and even managed to make Clint his coffee. His mood brightened considerably after that first cup, and more still after the second, but he continued to apologise for the turkey disaster. He couldn’t see that it didn’t really matter either way; if the turkey had survived, you still wouldn’t have any vegetables or potatoes to go with it with the oven out of commission (you refused to eat boiled vegetables because it brought back memories of horrendous family dinners from when you were a kid).

You spent the morning cuddled up beside the fire, wrapped up in blankets and playing board games. Clint thrashed you at monopoly but you got your own back in scrabble, beating him by over 100 points.

Sporting cheap and tacky Santa hats, you exchanged your gifts, none of which were serious presents. The best gift Clint gave you was a $69 gift card for his favourite pizza place; the worst was a pair of socks (from his own drawer, thankfully washed) with holes in them. You in return had given him a box of pens to replace the ones he’d lost or broken over the past few months, some coconut scented hand lotion and a tub of the strawberry body scrub he finished last week.

When the time came for Christmas dinner, it truly was something unforgettable. Clint hacked away at the turkey carcass in search for any meat which had survived the cremation while you boiled some water over the fire and lovingly prepared two portions of instant noodles.

“We’ve got sausage casserole, which is honestly just a gloopy gravy with a single piece of pork fat in it, or the equally exciting curry flavour, which looks a little too close to vomit coloured for my person tastes and smells not unlike a public toilet. So,” you asked with a smile. “Which would prefer?”

“Well, they both sound delicious,” Clint smirked, sitting down on the floor beside you and presenting a plate with the few salvaged slithers of turkey. “I think I’ll have to try them both.”

Pushing the bowls towards him, you said, “Be my guest. I’m honestly a little scared to eat either.”

“But you’re willing to let me risk death to prove they’re edible?”

“We both know that you’ve put far worse into your stomach.”

The faces he made while taste testing the noodles were absolutely the best Christmas present you had ever received. He pushed the brown, goopy noodles back towards you and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “They’re the better ones, I suppose.”

“Why are you giving them to me, then?”

“Because it’s Christmas and you’re meant to do nice things for people. If you keep complaining I’ll take them back.”

You threw your hands in the air and took the bowl, wrinkling your nose at the smell. Under his intense stare, you forced yourself to take a spoonful and immediately regretted it. “Nope, can’t do it! There some pizza in the freezer which has probably half defrosted by now. If we stick it over the fire then it might be cooked by midnight.”

Clint let out a sigh of relief, dramatically dropping his spoon back into his bowl. “You have no idea how glad I am that I don’t have to eat this shit. You want me to make you a turkey sandwich? There’s some bread in the cupboard - might be a little mouldy but we can just pick it off. And there’s still the cake; I didn’t screw that up.”

He returned a few minutes later with two turkey sandwiches. The bread was spread with strawberry jam as he couldn’t find the cranberry sauce but by this point you really didn’t care. It just made you laugh and really still tasted far better than the instant noodles had so you weren’t complaining.

After you finished your Christmas ‘dinner’, Clint suggested, “My laptop should still have some charge. We could watch a film, if you like?”

“That sounds great,” you smiled. As he ran upstairs to grab it from the bedroom, you rearranged the cushions on the floor to make the perfect pile. Laying back, you couldn’t help but think how, despite being disaster after disaster, this might be the best Christmas you’d ever had. It didn’t take a genius to work out why, either.

Clint.

Everything the disaster of a man had done for you today, from his terrible turkey and jam sandwiches to his ridiculous presents, brought a smile to your face and made your insides feel all… squiggly. The harder you tried to squash those feelings, push them down and ignore them like a sensible person, the stronger they became.

You started to remember every single time that he’d done something just because he knew it would make you smile. All the calming touches. Every time he’d kissed you. God, you wanted to kiss him again. Maybe it was just the Christmas spirit. Maybe it was more than that. It hardly mattered, though.

Damn him.

Scrambling around you managed to pin a sprig of mistletoe above the fireplace before diving back onto the pillow barricade and make it look as if you were completely cool and collected. If he noticed your flaming cheeks then he didn’t say anything, instead just smiling at the cushions on the ground and taking a place right up against your side.

He set the laptop up and leaned back, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you comfortably against his chest. Clint slowly trailed his fingers up and down the length of your arm, the gentle movements meant to relax you but only serving to rile you up further. You could barely focus on the film, your mind too busy imagining what it’d be like to kiss him again.

“You’re not watching the movie,” Clint whispered, his lips hovering right over your ear.

“I’ve seen it before.”

“I know; it’s your favourite.” He chuckled quietly, the vibrations against your skin making the lump in your throat all the more impossible to ignore. Clint trailed a line of kisses down your neck, pausing over the sensitive spot on your collarbone. A silent moan escaped your lips when he nipped at the delicate skin. “Tell me to stop, baby, and I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” you mumbled, rolling over and straddling him. Crashing your lips together, Clint laced his fingers through your hair and tugged hard to draw another whimpering moan from your mouth.

You rolled your hips in retaliation, taking his lower lip between your teeth and sucking gently until he was begging for more. You kissed him hard, almost bruisingly, as you explored each others bodies. Each touch, desperate but somehow painfully restrained, sent sparks flying and you were breathing hard, feeling dizzy and a little overwhelmed.

Clint’s dug his fingers into your hips, trying to chase your kiss as you pulled back teasingly, before suddenly flipping you over onto your back. You were trapped under his strong body but definitely weren’t complaining. He lowered himself to kiss you again but he held himself back, his lips close enough to brush against your but not quite enough to be satisfy either of your burning desires.

He traced his fingers up from your hip, over the curve of your breast, all the way up your neck and to your jaw, butterfly light touches which had you panting beneath him. Clint never took his eyes off of you as he watched the way you responded to every touch, figuring out how best to drive you absolutely crazy. Every time you drew a sharp breath, his touch igniting a fire in your core, he would clench his jaw like this was testing his own resolve as much as yours. 

It was your resolve that broke first. You knew he’d likely tease you about it later but in that moment you really didn’t care. You slipped a hand around his neck and pulled him down to you, peppering light kisses over his lips. The fire inside still burned bright but you wanted to take it slow for a while, savour the moment in case this was the last one you got.

Eventually, though, you broke away. Clint rolled off of you and returned to his earlier spot by your side, wrapping his arms around you again and gently kissing your temple. The film was still playing and you tried to focus back on the story but couldn’t tear your attention from Clint’s fingers, playing with a short strand of hair by your ear.

“That’s very distracting,” you murmured. “ _You’re_ very distracting.”

“Me? A distraction? Well, obviously. I am amazing.”

You smothered a laugh, rolling your eyes at his smug confidence. It was so different from this morning, when he’d convinced himself that he was a waste of space. Your heart physically hurt when you twisted your neck to meet his gaze and, instead of a cheeky light in his eyes, you saw that same vulnerability from before.

Planting a kiss on his collar bone, you snuggled up against him, pulled a blanket over you both and said, “Yes, you are. Now, please shut up and let me enjoy my film.”

His muscles relaxed and he murmured a quiet, “Yes, Ma’am.”

You stayed tangled together on the floor until his computer finally died - 2 minutes before the end of the film, of course. Neither of you had the energy to move up to the bedroom, so you simply let your eyes fall shut, muttering soft “Merry Christmas”’s as you slowly drifted away.


	19. December 27th

“Y/N, do you feel that too?”

You glanced over at your partner, surprised by his interrupting you. Normally he would wait until you finished your sentence before taking the conversation on a random tangent. Admittedly, the benefits of fresh over dried fruits wasn’t necessary all that interesting but Clint usually at least pretended to be interested in your ramblings. This was very strange behaviour indeed. “What?”

“That funny feeling in the pit of your stomach.”

“Well, I’m not surprised you’re feeling that. I told you if you ate that much spaghetti then you’d get a stomach ache but you didn’t listen. I know that Giovanni’s does the best bolognaise around but you did not need that third portion, honey.” You placed a soft kiss on his lips and said, “Now you’ve just gotta face the consequences of your actions like a grown up.”

He elbowed you in the side in protest that three had barely been enough and he could have easily made his way through a fourth, but you could tell from the way he was not so subtly rubbing his stomach that you would indeed have to deal with his bitch ass moaning when you got back home. “Not that kind of funny feeling. I mean we’re being followed.”

You turned to check behind you, narrowing your eyes at a man in a purple velvet coat and orange scarf. Not because you thought he was the one following you; just because his outfit was hideous and offended you deeply. Returning your attention to Clint, your gaze manically searching the mall for any sign of people acting strangely, you asked, “Who? Where?”

“Stop doing that. You’ll draw attention,” Clint said, linking your fingers together and shoving both your hands into his pocket. He placed a kiss on your cheek as you walked, his lips hovering long enough to whisper, “Third floor on the right, black coat.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not that I’ve seen. He won’t be alone, though. He’s definitely backup. If I had to guess… Hey! Mind where you’re going, man!” Clint yelled, flipping off the man who had just rammed his shoulder into yours and then done a runner in the opposite direction to avoid Clint’s wrath. Worry plastered across his face, he squeezed your hand and asked, “Are you alright? What a jerk.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“What?”

“The bathroom, Clint. We need to go there now.”

“Why?”

You glanced over your shoulder in the direction the man had run off in, dragging Clint away from a nearby makeup cart. His nail polish could wait. This couldn’t. “The man who just bumped into me…”

“You think I’m all sexy and irresistible for standing up for you, right?” he asked, not listening to a word you were saying. “If this is some way to pull me away for sneaky bathroom sex, you can just tell me. I won’t judge. It’s perfectly natural to be turned on in the wake of such protectiveness.”

Shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the man beside you, you followed the signs for the bathroom and tugged Clint in to the WC. His face dropped the second he saw Fury standing by the sink. No sleazy bathroom sex for him after all - not that it had ever been likely to happen in the first place, as you assured him later on.

Overcoming the shock of seeing his boss, Clint hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here, Fury? If anyone saw you, it’d blow everything we’ve set up here!”

Fury cocked his eyebrow, neither intimidated nor impressed by Clint’s exclamations. “Yes, because you’ve been doing a great job at staying undercover so far.”

That threw Clint for a moment before he managed to say, “There have been a few… unexpected bumps in the road but we’re making progress with the investigation.”

Ignoring your partner’s attempts to explain what truly was a fairly pitiful track record, Fury turned his gaze on you and asked, “What is this I heard about David Jenkins? And Maya Harding, while we’re at it.”

“In Y/N’s defence, that was exceptionally quick thinking on her part,” Clint said, once again on the excuses before you’d ever registered the Director’s questions. Standing a little taller than he had been before, Clint took a small step forward and continued, “She took the lead in a sensitive situation and got the Cuttermans to back off. I’ve read the files since then, Nick, and it was an excellent leap to make with Jenkins. SHIELD has a plant within his organisation; it shouldn’t be too difficult to pull a few strings and make a trail to corroborate her story.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Barton. What do you have to say for yourself, Agent?”

“I’m sorry, Director, but if I hadn’t said something then the entire operation could have fallen apart.”

“Believe it or not, you two are not the central point of this case. We do have other agents working separate cases against the Syndicate to bring them down.” His gaze flickered between you but he gave nothing away. Hands in pockets, posture easy but equally dangerous, Fury was his usual unreadable self. “I’m not happy with the idea of tying multiple strings of investigations together.”

“We get that, Fury, but a plant in the underbelly of a gangster’s network - which is fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, regardless how vicious the man himself can be - is worth considerably less than the Syndicate!”

“Enough, Barton. What SHIELD decides worthy of investigation is none of your concern. I am telling you that I will not sanction our agent to assist in your cover up.” Fury waved his hand dismissively at Clint’s protests, turning his attention solely back towards you. The few silent seconds which followed were some of the longest in your entire life. “You knew that already, though, didn’t you, Y/N?”

Fairly certain what was being asked of you but not quite ready to admit it without being 100% sure - your position in SHIELD being somewhat precarious at best in light of recent “hiccups”, as Clint was so intent to call them - you asked, “Director?”

You could swear you saw Fury’s lips twitch into a smirk but it vanished before you could be certain. “Did you, or did you not, hack into Jenkin’s private network and plant files yourself? Without informing SHIELD in advance, or obtaining the correct permission?”

“Remotely breaking into a secure system like that is impossible,” Clint murmured. Whether the comment was for himself or Fury you didn’t know although it became a little clearer when he continued speaking, seemingly unaware that he was voicing his thoughts at all. “Even it weren’t, what would be the problem? It just means that the agent would be less likely to be tied to the information if they didn’t know it existed. Acting on intuition and instinct is more important than following protocol anyway.”

“Open your mouth once more, Agent Barton, and I’ll sew it shut. I am not here to discuss this with _you._ ”

By your side, Clint visibly paled. Fury was exactly the kind of guy to go through with threats like that. Although you could see the benefit of shutting Clint up for a few hours, you couldn’t help think how sad it would make kissing him so had to come down on your partner’s side on wanting to avoid that outcome.

You were jolted from your thoughts when Fury demanded, “Answer the question, Agent. Did you hack David Jenkin’s private servers?”

“I did, Director.” Under his intense gaze, fully aware that he knew more than he was saying, you bowed your head and admitted, “I may also have placed a few data packets in Maya Harding’s servers too.”

“Stupid, dangerous thing to do. If you do anything like it again, I’ll demote your sorry ass and sent it back to cyber crime as a desk officer. Am I understood?”

You gulped anxiously, that being the last place you wanted to end up. ‘Desk officer’ was just a fancy name for secretary, the kind whose only job was to make tea and get lunch for the utter douchebags who worked on the lower floors. Meeting his gaze head on, convinced that Fury had the power to stare right into the depths of your soul, you nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Is there anything else, Director?” Clint asked slowly, after an uncomfortable few moments in silence. No-one had moved and neither you nor your partner were entirely certain if you’d been dismissed or not but were absolutely not willing to leave before Fury was done.

“Just a message from Alice in accounting.”

“It’s about the coffee machines, isn’t it?”

“It’s the coffee machines.”

You sagged against your partner’s back, resting your forehead on his shoulder and letting out a deep groan. Barely more than a hiss in Clint’s ear, you said, “I told you that they wouldn’t reimburse another!”

“Drink less coffee or find a way to fix the broken machines because Alice can be vicious and I will not stand in her way if she decides to hunt you both down,” Fury said, that invisible smirk playing on his lips once again. “Now get out of here. I don’t wanna hear your names again until this operation is complete, are we clear? Step out of line again and I will pull you both from the field. This is your only warning.”

With a little salute, you and Clint backed out the bathroom and practically ran to your car. Resting your head on the steering wheel, you suddenly burst out laughing as the absurdity of that entire meeting hit you. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you turned to Clint and asked, “Did that really just happen? How long do you think Fury was hiding in there?”

“Don’t even go there. He has a kink for dramatics. Shows up in the weirdest of places without any explanation. I stopped questioning it years ago, honestly.”

“Thanks for sticking up for me in there.”

“Hmm?”

“You know what I’m talking about. It’s just, well, you didn’t have to do that for me but you did. It means a lot to know that you’re have my back. So thanks.”

Clint looked away, staring out the window to hide whatever he was feeling. He didn’t say anything for a long time, lost in his thoughts, but when he turned back he wore a grin on his face which could only mean trouble. “You know how you could repay me?

“I swear to god if you say bathroom sex then you can get out of the car right now and walk home. So, bearing that in mind, tell me; how can I repay you?”

“Nevermind…”


	20. December 31st

“What did you tell Aaron in the end, anyway?”

“I just told him you weren’t feeling well,” Clint said, running his fingers through your hair. You’d spent the entire day huddled up on the sofa watching terrible re-runs, eating leftover turkey sandwiches after Clint had insisted that you gave him another chance to make you a Christmas dinner. Thankfully it had gone much better than the first attempt, although you had been eating nothing but turkey sandwiches and curry and all manner of strange inventions for the past 4 days.

Pushing yourself upright, immediately missing his calming touch, you couldn’t help but smile when he grabbed your hands and pulled them into his lap. You ran your thumb over his rough knuckles, making a mental note to add more of his moisturiser to the shopping list. Meeting his gaze, you asked, “Why would you do that? We’re supposed to be making it up with the Cuttermans not avoiding them.”

“Couldn’t be bothered with that stuffiness tonight. It can be my New Year’s resolution. Fix the mess we made and get back on track with the mission. Tonight, though? I can think of better things to do.” He paused for a moment before clarifying, “They’re you, by the way.”

“Shut up, dear. I am not nearly drunk enough for those kinds of jokes.” You shoved his shoulder, surprised by his joking but deciding not to dwell on it. He didn’t mean anything by it anyway. “Have you ever kept a resolution in your life?”

Clint looked incredibly offended at your insinuation but as he struggled to conjure any example more recent than fifteen years ago - which, perhaps worryingly seeing how much he still consumed, amounted to drinking less coffee - he had to admit that you were right to worry. Rolling his eyes, he stretched his arm around your shoulders and lightly stroked your neck. “Shut up, dear.”

“So, if we aren’t getting dressed up and going out tonight what did you have planned instead?”

Suddenly you were in Clint’s lap, his arms around your waist and his lips on yours. Between the soft and slow kisses, his hands slipping beneath your fluffy jumper, he said, “I’ve got something I wanna show you.”

Leaning back into his arms, you asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s not a surprise if I tell you.” Lifting you off him with surprising ease, he took your hand and pulled you up the stairs. You couldn’t help the slight stab of disappointment when, instead of the bedroom, he lead you into upstairs study (although technically it was more of a cupboard with a desk).

You frowned, staring at him in utter confusion when he opened the window. A sharp shiver ran down your spine at the rush of freezing air but Clint pulled you against his chest and wrapped himself around you, rubbing your arms until you stopped shaking.

Half laughing, half shouting for him to stop, you watched in astonishment as Clint clambered over the desk and began to pull himself up and out the window. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Me? You’re coming too!” he grinned, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along. “Live a little, Y/N!”

Hanging out the window, you clung to the drainpipe like a koala bear, holding in the screams of terror that were rising from your core. “Clint, this is a terrible idea!”

“Those are absolutely the best kind,” he assured you. Pushing himself up, Clint boosted himself up and over the drainpipe. He peered down from over the edge and offered you a hand, pointing out the best foot holds with the other. “That’s it. I got you. Come on, baby. It’s easy.”

“For you, maybe! Not all of us were circus folk!”

Clint rolled his eyes and reached down further to get a proper hold on your arm, using all his strength to pull you up onto the roof. Carefully scuttling up the tiles, you balanced yourselves precariously on the top of your home.

You settled yourself comfortably against Clint’s chest, staring up at the shining stars above. Sighing contentedly as he dotted lazy kisses up your neck, you asked, “You come up here a lot, don’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“There’s dirty boot prints everywhere. And it just seems like the kind of place you’d come to get away from everything.”

“Being up here helps put things into perspective.”

In the distance you could see fireworks lighting up the night sky, a stunning array of colours showering down over the nearby neighbourhoods. Excited cheers emanated from almost every house and terrible renditions of Auld Lang Syne filled the air. It was beautiful.

Twisting round, you planted a soft kiss on his lips and whispered, “Happy New Year, Clint.”

“Happy New Year, Y/N. Come on, let’s get back inside before you freeze.”

Apparently climbing back in through a window was a lot harder than climbing out of one but you managed to slip inside without too many life threatening scares. After throwing on your pjs, you hovered awkwardly beside the bed as you watched Clint strip down to his boxers.

“You missed your chance tonight, baby,” he grinned, feeling your gaze. “This is off the table after you were so rude about my resolutions and said my coffee cake was dry.”

“It _was_ dry,” you mumbled. Pushing the thought aside, you tugged on the quilt cover and cleared your throat awkwardly. “You don’t have to take the floor if you don’t want to. I mean, it’s a big bed. Plenty of room for us to share and not, you know, get in each other’s personal space”

Clint looked up in surprise but quickly covered his shock with an annoyingly self satisfied smirk. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeated, slipping beneath the cover and making yourself comfy on your side of the bed. Turning off the lights, leaving only the dim bedside lamp to illuminate the room, you were grateful for the darkness as it hid the mix of emotions on your face. Keeping your voice light, you said, “It’s just two people sharing a bed, right? Doesn’t mean anything, anyway.”

“Totally,” Clint agreed. He shuffled in beside you, placing a kiss on your neck before rolling over and sticking to his side of the bed. Switching off the dim light, he breathed, “Don’t mean a thing at all.”


	21. January 2nd

“Where’s Clint?”

Aaron’s directness threw you for a moment but you covered your surprise with a smile. You’d realised that this wasn’t your usual girls’ night when you’d walked in to find the kitchen counter free of the expensive nibbles you’d become accustomed to. Obviously the lack of company had also been quite a give away but, while you were almost glad not to have to deal with some of the regular inane conversation, you were more sad to forgo the tasty treats.

Sickly sweet, you answered, “He’s got business to deal with in the city. He’ll be back in a few days. Why? Is it important? I can call him, if you like.”

Beneath the table you crossed your fingers that he would not ask you to do that for it would certainly throw up a few problems. Yesterday, bright and early at 5 am, Clint had received a call from SHIELD and had been recalled to Headquarters for a few days. He hadn’t been able to tell you anything - for all the stock of being on this assignment, you were still only a level 4 agent, whereas Clint was at least a level 7.

Thankfully, Claudia shook her head and assured you that wasn’t necessary. When you asked what this was about, she explained, “Look, Y/N, we think that before Christmas we may have given you the wrong impression about us. We really just want to straighten a few things out and hoped you’d be willing to return the favour, too.”

You nodded silently, wary to say anything until you knew what was happening. Fury’s warning was looping in your mind, telling you not to dig yourself into an even bigger hole, or risk a fate you’d truly rather avoid. Caring little for how harsh you sounded, you asked, “Why don’t you start and tell me why you stormed round to our house and demanded we talk?”

“That was perhaps a little… untactful of us. You’ll have to forgive us. Aaron and I are under quite a lot of stress at the moment what with work and the car and what with someone following us day and night.”

“What?” You were surprised that she’d brought up the ‘stolen’ car and realised a moment too late that you weren’t supposed to know about that.

Claudia waved her hand in the air dismissively. “No need to be coy. Alyson can’t keep a secret to save her life. I know you know that Alfonso King is heading an investigation for us.”

“He used to be marines before he joined the police, did you know?” Aaron said, as if it were supposed to be intimidating. He was watching you far more intently than Claudia and honestly it was quite annoying. The couple obviously had different ideas over what this was supposed to be about. For Claudia, it seemed to be about issuing some kind of apology and smoothing out rough ground. Aaron, on the other hand, still seemed to be under the misapprehension that he could scare you.

“I didn’t know that,” you said coldly before turning back to Claudia. “You were saying…”

“Ah, yes. Well, you’re new in the neighbourhood and we just… assumed the worst, I’m afraid.”

“Any news on who actually is stalking you?”

She shook her head, looking down at her nails. “Not yet. But Alfonso is good at his job. I’m sure he’ll find something.”

You frowned. You were fairly adept when it came to reading people, one of the best in your classes. All the signs were suggesting that Claudia was telling the truth - which honestly made no sense. It was that or she was an exceptionally skilled liar but your gut told you that wasn’t quite the case. Whatever else was going on in their lives, Claudia genuinely thought she had a stalker.

That muddied the water a little - after all, if there really was another person following her then there was every chance she could be telling the truth about the car being stolen and that would throw up all kinds of new problems - but it was also an interesting opportunity. She was already paranoid; Perhaps you could use that as a cover to step up your intelligence gathering without arousing too much suspicion.

Interrupting your train of thought, Aaron said, “It’ll turn out to be nothing, I’m sure. Sometimes my firm ends up dealing with dangerous people and it wouldn’t be the first time one of them tried to scare Claudia to get something from me.”

It physically hurt not to roll your eyes. Of course Aaron would think whatever was happening was about him. Unable to help yourself, you glared at Aaron and said in the most neutral voice you could managed, you reminded him that you certainly understood the risks of working with dangerous people. Satisfied with the way he paled, you smiled at Claudia and said, “I’m sure Detective King will keep you safe.”

“I have complete faith Alfonso’s abilities but say, for example, that Aaron or I did run into trouble… Perhaps something that King couldn’t handle… What would you suggest?”

“Running in the other direction would be a good start.”

Claudia smiled despite herself at that, although Aaron just looked frustrated and bored. “Im being serious. If I… We needed help… Who could we turn to?”

“I’m just a simple editor, Claudia. I wouldn’t know…”

Quite suddenly, she turned to her husband and asked, “Darling, would you go down to the cellar and grab another bottle of red? One from 67 maybe?”

Aaron grumbled before following his wife’s request.

Alone, Claudia seemed to relax and you suddenly wondered if there was more going on here than you realised. Taking her hand, concerned by the way she was shaking, you asked, “Is everything okay? With you and Aaron? He doesn’t… hasn’t…”

“He’d never,” she said resolutely. Looking down at your hands, she admitted, “He doesn’t believe me though. Says I’m being stupid for thinking I’m being followed and that it’s all in my mind. He said he’d get someone to sort it out but I think he went to the wrong kind of people and it’s made everything worse… I need your help. Aaron’s associates looked you up. We know you weren’t lying when you said you’d worked with David Jenkins.”

“Whatever you’re asking me to do, I can’t do it…”

“Y/N, I’m scared. I feel like I’m being watched all the time and I don’t know who else to turn to. I know it was wrong for assume you were behind this when you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I don’t want any trouble, I just want to feel safe again.”

“I… I need time to process exactly what you’re asking me, Claudia.”

“But you will think about it? Please?”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, as if this wasn’t the kind of revelation you were going to spend the next week obsessing over anyway. “But I’m not agreeing to anything.”

“When -”

“When I’m ready, Claudia.” Grabbing your bag, knowing that she would only continue to try wear you down if you stayed, you threw on your coat and muttered, “I think I should be going. I’ll see you later.”

You spent the next few hours pacing around the house, lost in thought until a familiar ring tone blasted from your phone. You all but dived over the coffee table to grab it from your bag, settling on the sofa and smiling at the familiar face on the screen. Just seeing Clint calmed your nerves, although you pointedly chose not to dwell on why that was. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Same old.” He looked tired, more than usual, and you wondered how long it was since he’d last slept. Judging by the bloodshot eyes, the constant fidgeting and messy hair (not the kind which took an hour in the morning to style), you estimated he had to be coming up to 30 hours. Maybe more if he hadn’t been able to sleep on the flight back to headquarters.

Eyeing the steaming mug in his hand, you asked, “Do I need to call someone to cut you off before you start jumping off the walls?”

“You dare try to take away my coffee and I’ll burn this place down. It’s hard enough to stay awake during these briefings as it is. Without this…”

“Just try and take it easy, yeah? Maybe you could drop in and see Alice in accounting while you’re there?”

“Don’t say her name!” Clint hissed, sliding down in his chair until all you could see was the top of his hair. He reached up from beneath the table and brought the phone down to his level. Making himself comfortable on the floor, he whispered, “She’s like a demon. If you say her name, you summon her from the pits…”

“Oh, sweetie, you really need to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. Later. I’ve still got things to sort out here.”

“Any chance you can tell me what it’s about?”

He shook his head. Even sleep deprived and buzzing on caffeine, he was too good an agent to give away anything like that. “Just Avengers stuff, like I told you before. Anyway, tell me about your day.”

“Oh, you know. Normal stuff.”

Give Clint his due, half out of his mind or not, he was still one observant man. He couldn’t put a name to the mess of emotions on your face but he’d spotted them all before you managed to hide them away. Straightening up so fast that he hit his head on the underside of the table, he said, “Now you definitely have to tell me. You went round Claudia’s for drinks, right? What happened?”

“We talked about, you know… Aaron’s ‘business associates’, who I would bet are their friends in the Syndicate, checked us out and they found the data packets I hid linking us to David Jenkins. They believe that we - or at least I - work for him so we’re good there. I told you it’d all be fine. And you aren’t gonna believe it but I think someone is actually stalking Claudia. Aaron doesn’t seem to care either way but she was scared. She seems to think that I can protect her from whatever is going on. I think she wants to hire me as some kind of private body guard. I told her I’d think about it but really I am just very confused right now, honestly.”

Clint blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around everything you had just dumped on him. Raking his hand through his hair, clearly as confused as you were feeling, he said slowly, “Wait, go back. Claudia actually has a stalker? And someone really did steal the car? What the hell is happening? Have we stepped into a new reality or something?”

“Fuck me if I know. And no, that is not an invitation.” Cutting him off before he had even started, letting him know that you hadn’t stepped into that particular reality, you said, “I’m serious, Clint, something weird is happening here. I don’t know what to do.”

“You agree to help her, Y/N. It’s simple. It’s a good way of getting close to them without actually needing to do anything risky and if you’re going everywhere with her then you can use it to keep a better eye on who they’re talking to.”

“And if someone actually is following her? Threatening her?”

“I’m sure you can handle some creepy stalker.” His expression softened slightly, although whether that was because of your nerves or just because he took another sip of coffee you weren’t sure. “If you’re worried about your skills, we can set time aside for training. You nearly failed your last hand to hand proficiency tests so it can hardly do you any harm.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I read your file. You’ll have to tell me all about the incident with Agent Coulson when I get back.”

You groaned into your hands, unsure whether to laugh or cry over the memories. “That was my first day on the job. A complete misunderstanding and he was really good about it. We sorted it out like grown adults and I paid for the damage to Lola. You know, he sends me a Christmas card every year.”

Grumbling that he never got a card from Coulson, Clint suddenly went very quiet. You opened your mouth to speak but he put his finger to his lips and practically stopped breathing when the door to the otherwise empty break room creaked open.

A woman’s voice broke the silence, cold like steel. A pointed red heel tapped against the tiled floor, somehow managing to convey a sense of unimpressedness. “Agent Barton. If you’d please drop by accounting this evening before you leave, we need to have a serious talk about your expenses.”

You waited in silence for the door to shut and the woman to leave before Clint hissed, “I told you that speaking her name would summon the demon from the pit.”

“I’d say I wish I were there to support you but I’m really glad it’s you that has to face Alice’s wrath and not me. I’ll make sure you have a really beautiful funeral.” Ignoring his please for help, you blew him a kiss and grinned. “Good night, Clint!”


	22. January 7th

“Are you serious?”

You shrugged, suddenly doubting yourself. It had seemed like such a good idea, exactly the kind of thing that would make Clint smile after surviving a serious ass kicking from Alice in accounting, but now you were beginning to question it. Staring at your scruffy trainers, your hand tightening around the car door handle as you prepared to just take him back home, you said, “Yeah?”

Clint literally vaulted over the hood of the car to kiss you but totally misjudged his trajectory. Instead of smoothly sliding around and trapping you between his body and the car, as he had most likely been attempting to do, Clint crashed head first into the bush beside your parking space.

Brushing the dirt and mud from his trousers with the confidence of a man who had no dignity left to lose, he planted his hand beside your head and leant in for a kiss. His lips hovered above yours but before he could close the gap, you ducked out under his arm and burst into a fit of giggles.

“You know, Y/N, laughing at me when I’m trying to kiss you isn’t doing a whole lot for my self esteem.”

“I’m sorry, honey, but you have leaves in your hair.” Plucking the shrubbery free and wiping your thumb over his dirty jaw, you slipped your hand around his neck and pulled him down for a soft kiss. You felt him smile against your lips as you scratched the back of his head, playing with his hair. Reluctantly disentangling yourself from him, you grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the car. “Come on. We’ll miss the slot if we stay out here much longer.”

Relaxed and shooting ranges weren’t exactly two words that should go together but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Clint so comfortable in himself as he was now. You knew that he missed being able to openly train with his bow and arrow and while you hadn’t been able to sneak his own bow out with you he seemed to be doing just fine with the one from the range.

Most importantly, though, because you were so far from Claudia and Aaron and anyone that could possibly be related to the case - you’d literally driven for hours to get here - Clint didn’t have to hold back. He was free to let go, hit bullseye after bullseye without anyone questioning his abilities.

You were quite content to sit back and watching him from the sidelines. After all, from this angle you had the most incredible view of… well, _everything._ Truly that man had the most incredible physique you had ever seen. You really couldn’t be blamed for the way your mind wandered.

Crouching down in front of your chair, Clint tapped your forehead with the tip of his bow and asked, “You wanna go? You’ve been sitting there for like an hour. Surprised you haven’t gotten bored.”

“I’ve got an active imagination,” you mumbled, loosening your scarf as a heat climbed up the back of your neck. “Archery isn’t exactly my preferred method of combat. I’m much better with a gun.”

“I can teach you. It’s always good to have basic skills in different areas.”

“Really, it’s okay. I don’t think I am ever going to need to use…” You squealed when he hoisted you to your feet and shoved the bow in your hands. Protesting by putting on the arm guard as aggressively as you could, you asked, “Don’t I get a choice in this?”

Pushing you to the line, he took a step back and crossed his arms. “Nope. Let me see what you can do.”

You felt ridiculous as you took your stance, trying to remember everything that your training officer had taught you in the single lesson he had given before deciding that archery that was _definitely_ not for you. Attempting to copy how Clint had been standing moments before, you nocked the arrow into place and let the shot go. Unsurprisingly, you missed the target by about a foot and were probably closer to hitting the adjacent board rather than your own target.

Clint retrieved the arrow for you, grunting as he fought to dislodge it from the wall behind the target. Handing it back to you, he said, “That was…”

“Awful,” you said, filling in the gap for him.

“I was going to say abysmal, actually. Try again.”

Barely a second after taking up your stance, Clint was pushing and pulling to get you into a better form. He pressed his body tightly against your back, using himself like the ‘perfect’ mould. His hands fell on your hips, gently twisting your core so that it was directly over your feet. Then he repositioned your shoulders, his thumb lingering over the base of your neck before stepping away.

He told you to draw your bow and hold the position for a few moments. You did exactly as he asked, the seconds dragging as he analysed every aspect of your form. Clint tapped your drooping elbow but aside from that seemed quite satisfied with your improved stance.

Behind you once again, he rested his hands on your hips and held you steady. His breath warm against your neck, Clint murmured, “Close your eyes. Shh. Don’t argue. Trust me. Just close your eyes.”

Ignoring the way your stomach was doing flips, you shut your eyes and held your breath. You had a hard time remaining still with the way Clint stroked your skin, his thumb brushing across the thin strip of midriff where your jumper had risen.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt his mouth above your ear, whispering, “Your aim drifted left so move your front foot forward just a little. That’s better. Now, relax your shoulder. Keep this arm straight. Perfect. When you’re ready, let go.”

To your utter amazement, the arrow not only hit the target but struck the centre dead on.

“That was…”

“Amazing,” you said, once again filling in the gap for him.

“I was going to say better but I suppose an argument could be made for great. Possibly.”

You rolled your eyes and slipped out of his grip to free the arrow from the target. Handing the weapon back to him, you took his free hand and said, “Grab your coat and come with me. I have another surprise for you.”

Whatever Clint had been expecting, this was not it. Grinning at his dumbfounded expression, you opened your arms out wide and gestured at the empty arena. There was all manner of buildings and lookouts, perches to climb up onto and makeshift trenches to hide behind. Even though you were expecting it, you still jumped when a mechanised target sprang up nearby before disappearing behind a wooden wall a few seconds later.

“It’s usually used for paintball competitions but the guy who owns this place said we could use as no one else is booked for today. Too cold for any sane person but I figured you’d enjoy the challenge of moving targets and being able to run around a bit. Is this… Is this okay?”

“Okay? Y/N, it’s incredible!” He dropped his bow and quiver and swooped you in his arms, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. By the time he set you down you were both breathing hard, your cheeks burning and not just from the cold. Clint bumped his nose against yours, smiling harder than you’d ever seen him smile before. “This is unbelievable. Thank you.”

“Well, I figured I should do something special for your birthday after how amazing mine was. I know this doesn’t quite match up to a 4 am car chase and a concussion but then what could.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Clint said, stealing a brief kiss. He immediately leant back in for another, longer kiss, which you were more than happy to meet. “Seriously, Y/N, thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

Melting under the weight of his gaze, you smiled softly and pushed him away by the chest. “Stop talking and start shooting things before my fingers fall off. Start down here and move your way around the buildings. I think the guy said there’s thirty-five targets. Maybe forty. Some of them shoot back, by the way.”

Clint was halfway up the nearest building before you’d finished, jumping around and letting off arrows like the pro you knew him to be. It truly was spectacular to watch. Part of you wished that you could join him in the game but the rational side of your mind knew the owner would not be impressed by you emptying a magazine of bullets into his special moving targets.

Twenty minutes later, Clint re-emerged from the final building looking incredibly chuffed with himself. However one look at how you were shivering convinced him that, despite your protests, you could not stay out in the cold for much longer so he quickly retrieved his arrows and herded you back inside.

As he checked the weapons back in with the guy at the front desk, you positioned yourself against the heater, grateful beyond words for the warm air against your back. You scanned the room, force of habit more than anything else, expecting to find nothing of interest but instead found your gaze locking on to a man in the corner.

“Everything okay?” Clint asked, following your stare to the man who had now hidden his face behind a newspaper.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, already turning towards the door to leave.

Catching your arm as you strode off, Clint pulled you to a stop. Concern flooded his features, from the crinkles around his eyes to the stiff line of his mouth. “You sure? You don’t seem okay. Was that man bothering you?”

“Honestly, Clint, I’m alright. He was staring at me, that’s all. Made me feel a little uncomfortable but it’s nothing new, though. Men stare at me all the time.” Clint frowned at that but you weren’t sure this was the right time or place to discuss the casual objectification of women in today’s society. Hoping to lighten the mood and alleviate some of his concern, you said gently, “Come on. Let’s just go home. We can order pizza for dinner, if you like. I’ll even let you choose the toppings.”

“You are feeling brave,” he grinned, taking your hand and leading you to the car. “You know you’ll probably regret that.”

“Almost certainly but there’s nothing quite like living dangerously.”

“You’re certainly in the right life for it,” Clint remarked. “But hey, if your weak stomach can’t handle my amazing pizza creations then there’s always that last slice of coffee and walnut cake which you can have instead.”

“You’d actually let someone else have the last slice of your cake?”

“Not just anyone, sweetheart. But for you? Always.”


	23. January 9th

“I won’t lie to you, Claudia. I’m still not convinced that I believe someone is out to harm you. But we’re friends,” you said, searching her face for any sign that that wasn’t true and this was, in fact, just as Clint believed, some kind of trap. Finding no reason to suspect that was the case, pushing aside your own suspicions for the time being, you took a sip of your water and smiled. “We’re friends and I’ll do what I can to help you feel safe.”

Claudia dabbed her corner of her eyes with a napkin, fighting to maintain the illusion of control. This was a practised motion, one perfected over years of hiding behind layers of makeup and attitude. The wobble in her voice the only indication that anything was wrong, she fixed a smile on her face and said, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“It’s no trouble. After all, there isn’t all that much that I can claim to do but…”

“Please, you don’t need to pretend. I understand that you want to keep your secrets and I have no interest in what work you may or may not have done with people like David Jenkins. I won’t pry and you needn’t tell me anything either way. All I ask is that you’re honest with me, now. Believe me or not but there is someone following me. Can you protect me from them?”

“I will try my best but really…”

Her smile slipped into something more genuine, stretching almost far enough to reach her eyes. “I know, I know. There’s not that much you can do. Can I… Could you promise me one more thing, though?”

“That depends on what you ask.”

“Please, don’t tell Aaron. He thinks I’m getting paranoid and I really don’t want him dragging me to see Doctor Jones again.” Laughing despite herself, a little too close to hysterical for you not to worry, she explained, “He treated me like an imbecile. Claimed I had all of these psychological problems with long, confusing names. Just because I’m beautiful, he assumed that I didn’t understand a word he was saying. I may not have a degree in engineering like my brother, or run a billion dollar company like my husband, but I am not stupid. I know when something isn’t right.”

You reached over the table and squeezed Claudia’s hand. “I’ll keep this between us.”

“Thank you, darling. Now, then!” Visibly perking up, all of her earlier concern brushed away like dirt under the carpet, she leant forward and said, “I have three bottles of the most spectacular rose in the fridge which I would be willing to share with you if - and only if - you brought some of your husband’s beautiful coffee cake as a trade. Truly, it is magical. Never let that man go.”

“Oh! I, uh, may have eaten the last slice a few nights ago. He hasn’t had time to make another yet but I do have this…” Digging through your bag, you whipped out a huge tub of cookie dough ice cream and dumped it in the middle of the counter. If that alone wasn’t enough to shock Claudia into a coma, then the bottle of chocolate fudge sauce and smaller box of “charmingly rustic” (also known as incredibly messy, burnt on the edges yet still undercooked in the centre) triple chocolate brownies certainly was.

Fighting with the lid of the ice cream tub, you met her utterly mystified gaze and grinned. “You were miserable and nothing makes people happier than chocolate and ice cream. I know it’s a bit, uh, low brow for your tastes but… Oh, okay then.”

Before you could stop her, Claudia had scooped the food up in her arms and casually turned towards her living room, expertly removing her high heels as she walked away. Following in tow after you grabbed the wine from the fridge, you sat down on the sofa next to Claudia and wordlessly poured you both a glass.

She flicked through the channels before settling on some terribly cliche drama that you secretly adored, threw a blanket over both of your legs and balanced the ice cream perfectly between you.

You ran your fingers over the frayed edges of the blanket, you wondered just how often Claudia sat here, alone, picking at the thin fabric just as she was now.

Internally praising yourself on the brownies - they may have been slightly burnt but all in all tasted pretty great - you asked gently, “Are you sure you’re alright, Claudia?”

“Right as rain, darling. Don’t you worry about me anymore today. Tell me, how is your dear hubby? Alyson said she saw him limping a little yesterday. Celebrate with a particularly energetic round of birthday sex? As fun as naked gymnastics can be, darling, men just aren’t as flexible as they get older, no matter what they seem to think. You need to take it easy with him.”

Almost spitting your mouthful of ice cream out over the sofa, you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, trying hard not to dwell on the idea of how fantastically acrobatic sex with Clint might be. He had been in the circus, after all, and probably knew all kinds of wonderful positions and tricks… You were quick to push that train aside, your cheeks practically burning at the thought.

A long swig of wine later, you assured Claudia that you were taking good care of your husband in his old age. It was the only option, and not entirely a lie, since you could hardly tell her the truth; she wouldn’t believe it, even if you did. (He’d actually pulled a muscle while running around pretending to be Robin Hood, and then gone and made it much worse by attempting to backflip onto the sofa only to miss by a mile and end up putting his foot through the television screen.)

You sat watching the TV together with only the occasional side comment about the (lack of) plot to break the comfortable silence until, a few episodes later, Claudia was gently snoring beside you. Realising fairly quickly that nothing would wake her in this state, you slipped from beneath the blanket and made your leave.

However, as you hovered in the doorway, you couldn’t ignore the voice in your head that was saying to take advantage of the situation. Aaron was out, Claudia was asleep; it was the perfect time to have a quick nose around and see if you could find anything interesting.

Creeping up the stairs, wincing as the wood creaked beneath your weight, you methodically made your way around the first floor. You peered into every room but found nothing of interest - at least nothing you deemed worthy of investigation right then. Going up another floor, you found a few bedrooms and spare rooms which seemed to have no function whatsoever. Up the last set of stairs, you finally found something interesting: a locked door.

You crouched down to get a better look at the lock and immediately sighed. This wasn’t your every day security latch. It was serious. In fact, the longer you studied it the more intrigued you became. The handle was nothing more than a fake. An intricate prop. But the door had to open somehow so you kept searching, running your hands over the wall for some kind of invisible panel.

Just as you thought you’d found something, a slight vibration behind the wall which could indicate some kind of power source, you heard a set of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Aaron’s voice sounded from below as he argued with the person on the line about a business deal or something equally mundane. You were a little too busy climbing out the window to pay much attention.

Probably your most idiotic plan ever, you hung from the window sill by the tips of your shaking fingers and bracing yourself against the wall. Freezing wind whipped your hair into your face, bitingly cold as it fought to tear your fingers from the thing ledge. There was no way you could hold yourself here for more than another few seconds and needed to think fast.

A quick survey showed there was a drainpipe on the corner of the house, which you thought was probably just within reach. No time to stretch out and test your theory, you launched yourself from the window and prayed to whatever deities were listening. You fell fast, further than you’d expected, but by some miracle you collided with the drain pipe and managed to grab on to it long enough to steady yourself.

Conscious of the noise you’d made as you hit the drain, and the way the pipe was bowing away from the wall, straining dangerously against the brackets which held it in place, you swung around to the other side of the wall and scrambled down as fast as you could. Deeming the drop worth the risk, you jumped from the second floor, rolling as you hit the ground to try and lessen the damage to your body.

Beneath the cover of the trees, you slipped around the house and limped down the road. Your hand was shaking so badly that you couldn’t get the key in the hole, every attempt scratching the metal around the lock until Clint opened the door.

“What the hell? Are you drunk or…” he started but changed tune the moment he saw your sorry state. “Oh shit, Y/N, what happened? Are you alright? What’s hurt?”

You smiled tightly, draping your arm over his shoulders as you stumbled inside. “Jumped from the top floor of the Cuttermans’ house.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Didn’t want Aaron to find me snooping.”

Clint huffed as he set you on the sofa. He shoved everything off of the coffee table to make space for you to stretch out your legs, crouching down beside you to check you over. “And you thought death was a better option? That was stupid of you, Y/N. What would have happened if you hadn’t survived? Did you think of that? What it could do to me? To the mission?”

“I wasn’t really thinking anything at the time,” you said, wincing as he poked and prodded your ankles. “I’m sorry, alright. I was just nosing around. There’s a room on the top floor. False lock. Probably a private office of some kind. That’s where we should be focusing our attention.”

“I don’t care about that right now. All I care about is making sure you’re alright.”

Neither of you spoke as he continued his medical assessment of your injuries. It looks as if, by some miracle, you’d escaped mostly unharmed. You were in too much pain to even think about blushing when Clint asked you to lift up your t-shirt. He hissed some quiet admonishment when he saw the huge bruises on your side from where you’d hit the ground.

His fingers gently brushed over your ribs, his gaze fixed on your face to watch the way you reacted to every touch to locate the most painful spots. He couldn’t feel any major breaks - you were incredibly lucky - but Clint’s best guess was that you’d fractured a few ribs. He wanted to take you to the hospital for a proper check, to see the true extent of the damage, but you refused.

“They won’t be able to do anything for me,” you groaned, pushing yourself upright and pulling your t-shirt back down. It hurt to breathe but a few painkillers would almost certainly do the trick. “I’ll just take it easy and wait it out.”

“That could take weeks! What if something big happens and I need you as backup?”

“Then I’ll get some stronger painkillers and I’ll have your back. It’s not that big a deal, Clint. I’ve survived injuries like this before and I will again. Calm down. We’ll keep it at basic surveillance and I can spend the next few weeks trying to get into a few more of the Syndicate’s servers. Okay?”

You slipped your hand behind his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him softly as if it could take all his worries away. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, bringing him even closer so that your foreheads touched. Punctuating each sentence with another kiss, you said, “I panicked. I’m alright, though. I promise.”

Clint leant back, the lines of worry still etched clearly around his eyes. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch warm and comforting. “Please don’t jump out of any more windows.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He stole another quick kiss as he pulled away, his gaze lingering over the brushes peeking out from beneath the edge of your jumper. “Stay put. I’ll get you some tea and a bag of peas. Let me know if you need any more cushions, alright?”

“Yes, mum.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“I know you are, honey. I’m sorry.”

When Clint returned, he placed a kiss on the top of your head and draped a blanket over you. “I’ve gotta go downstairs and check in with HQ but if you need anything just give me a shout.” He turned to leave but paused in the doorway, shaking his head as he stared at your sorry form. More amused than concerned now that the shock of your actions had worn off, Clint said, “You’re an idiot, you know that, right? Jumping out a damn window.”

“Can’t let you have all the fun now, can I?”

“Next time you’re bored and you want something to do, tell me. I’m sure we can find a better way to entertain ourselves.”

“Yeah?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“A particularly energetic round of naked gymnastics?”

It was absolutely worth the pain of moving to catch Clint off guard with a cushion to the head. It instantly wiped the smug expression from his face. “Barton, you bastard! Do you listen to every conversation I have with Claudia? Do you not trust me? I slipped up one time!”

“Hey, calm down, alright? Of course I trust you! In my defence, it was just this one time. I was just doing the routine checks to make sure the bugs were still working and happened to overhear that specific part of the conversation.” Clint carefully pushed your shoulders forward and slipped the cushion back behind you, clambering over the sofa to sit next to you. His hand found yours beneath the blanket and he squeezed gently. “I swear, I’m not keeping tabs on you. I know you can do this. I really was just running the daily tests. Get some rest and I’ll order in something for dinner later. We good?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Sorry for shouting at you.”

“S’alright, darling.”

Clutching the bag of peas tightly to your chest, the ice coldness dulling the pain in your chest, you brushed your lips over his and said, “Thanks for looking after me.”

“Someone has to since you clearly can’t manage it yourself.”

“That’s rich, coming from you! He who can barely cook, has more coffee in his veins than blood and who threw a dark sock in the white washing. Again. The last time you tried to iron a shirt you burnt through it and you spent ten minutes arguing with the oven when it wouldn’t cook your pizza because you’d forgotten to switch it on at the wall.”

Clint simply shrugged, not bothering to deny any of those points. “I guess we need each other then, don’t we?”

A little stunned by the seriousness in his voice, you murmured a soft reply. “Yeah, I guess we do.”


	24. January 16th

“Do you ever wish you had a real life?”

“I’ll tell you what I told you last time we listened to Bohemian Rhapsody: As depressing and ridiculous as this world can be, I don’t think we are living in someone else’s twisted fantasy,” Clint said. He barely looked up to answer your question, his focus fixed firmly on the task at hand. One that required much concentration and skill for the results to be perfect: painting your toenails.

“I’m being serious, Clint,” you grumbled, kicking him in the shin with your other foot. “Don’t you think about life outside SHIELD?”

Clint scowled as the sudden shove knocked the brush and left a thick line of bright nail polish all over his hand. He tried to rub the paint off his skin but only succeeded in smudging it more. Pointedly avoiding your gaze, he returned his attention to your nails and began applying a second coat. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

Out of politeness, you ignored your curiosity and decided not to press him for the truth. “I wonder, sometimes. What it would be like. They picked me straight out of highschool. Put me through basic training and handed me over to the cyber department. I spent years trying to get out there. Hated it. I was hacking some of the world’s top systems and they barely gave me the time of day.”

“How’d you convince HR to switch you to field work?”

“Hacked their system. Took them three years to realise what I’d done and by that point my SO didn’t want to give me back to cyber. Don’t know how he heard about it but Coulson volunteered to be in charge of my hearing. He chewed my ass about what I’d done, locked me at level four security and told me to stop causing trouble.”

“So you’ve never had a life outside SHIELD?”

“Not really, no. I watched my friends go to university, get jobs and start families. I tried dating other agents but it never ended well. I just wonder sometimes if what we do, what we give up, is worth it.”

Clint looked up from your finished nails, leaning back against the coffee table. He dropped his hands in his lap, you suspected to hide the fact that he was fidgeting. Whatever it was that was on his mind was obviously something that not even coffee could solve, the mug sat all but forgotten behind him. “You wish you could have kids?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I want the option,” you said slowly, not really sure of the answer yourself. It was something you’d considered on occasion. Sometimes you felt as if you were missing out and other times you were glad you’d dodged that bullet. “It just doesn’t seem right bringing a child into the world while being involved with something like SHIELD. We deal in the safety of the world but we can’t expect the same security for ourselves. Would you have children? A family? Knowing that they’d always be a potential risk?”

“I tried once,” he admitted, his gaze turning further afield than simply out the window. “But it didn’t work out. The universe had other plans for me, I guess. Anyway, what would you do if you weren’t an agent?”

The sudden change in topic threw you for a moment. The atmosphere between you had gotten a little too heavy for your liking and you absolutely hated the way Clint’s face had dropped. The lines of joy around his eyes grew tired, sad, and his gaze was now fixed on the ground.

Blurting out the first thing that came into your head, you groaned at the utter cliche of it. “Doctor.”

“Liar.”

“Fine! I wanted to be an ice-cream truck driver, alright? Or an astronaut. An archaeologist. Olympic skier. Maybe even a bin man. Those were my dream jobs as a kid.”

“You wanted to be a garbage collector?” Clint asked, his eyebrow cocked in amusement. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Why not? Get to drive around one of those cool trucks all day. Wear an awesome neon yellow jacket. Nice simple job. Pay the bills. Use the rest of my money to travel the world. And if someone pissed me off I could kill them and hide the body pretty easily.”

“Those are some… weird goals. Most people dream of driving a Lamborghini not a garbage truck. And those neon vests would definitely not suit you. For some reason, I’m not so surprised about the murderous intentions, though.”

“As if you didn’t spend rainy afternoons planning how to murder the people who bullied you at school. It was very therapeutic, I’ll have you know. What about you? What would you be?”

“Pizza delivery guy.”

“That… was a very quick answer. Are you sure you don’t need time to think about that?”

Clint shook his head, launching in to a list of surprisingly well thought out reasons for being a pizza delivery man. Unable to offer any sensible counterpoints, you simply nodded along with a lazy smile on your face. It was good to see his earlier tensions fading away. He even reached back to grab his coffee, so clearly whatever had been weighing on his mind was no longer as heavy as it had been.

“Did you always like computers?” Clint asked, randomly cutting off his own spiel about how pineapple absolutely deserved to be on pizzas. You hadn’t even realised that was where the conversation had ended up, too caught up in the sparkling blue of his eyes to really register what was being said.

“Oh, no. I hate them. Always have.” You laughed so hard at his shocked expression that your chest hurt. Clutching your fragile ribs, smiling through the pain as you readjusted yourself on the sofa, you playfully kicked his knee and said, “I love the codes, not the computers. The information is way more interesting than the hardware.”

“You’re real sexy when you talk technical like that,” Clint teased, catching your foot as you went to kick him again. “None of that, please. You’re meant to be resting, not fighting.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass then I wouldn’t have to fight you.”

“Being a pain in the ass is half of my charm, darling.”

“Calling it charm may be over selling it a little.”

“You wound me.” Leaning backwards, he crossed his arms over his chest and said loftily, “You keep on like that and you can find someone else to give you a foot massage.”

“Aw, honey, no. You’re so good at them. The best,” you pouted. Knowing exactly what he wanted you to say, you rolled your eyes and said dryly, “And the most charming man I’ve ever met. Happy now?”

“Yep. Very.”

You moaned softly as Clint dug his thumbs into the sole of your feet. The tension in your legs, which had built up over the weeks of enforced rest, began to ebb away and you sunk into the soft sofa cushions. Closing your eyes, you focused on the gentle but firm movements of his hands on your skin, the most wonderful of feelings.

His hands climbed higher at a painfully slow rate as he expertly worked the knots from your calf. Every touch ignited a heat in you, burning deep inside like a raging fire. This felt dangerous in the absolute best of ways and it was all you could do to remain still and embrace the intensity. He repeated the process twice more, moving up from your ankle to your knee and then switching legs until you were blissfully relaxed, practically melting into the sofa cushions. As his hands went higher still, fingers tracing patterns over your thighs, you nearly forgot how to breathe.

You felt Clint’s body hovering right over yours, so close, barely an inch, and yet he felt so far away. His lips on your neck, your jaw, he pulled a breathy moan from your body, sent a wave of pleasure straight to your core. You arched your hips, wrapped your arms around his waist and tried to pull him closer, desperate to feel him against you, but all you got in return was a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t,” Clint whispered, knocking your hands away as you began to snake them down his body.

You stiffened beneath him, suddenly fearing that you had misread the situation, perhaps even your whole relationship, but he cupped your face and placed a soft kiss on your lips. He shifted so that he was sat beside you rather than being a few seconds away from his balance giving out and landing as a big lump on your chest.

Gently turning your face towards his, Clint ran his fingers through your hair and touched his forehead to yours. “You’re still healing. I just don’t wanna hurt you, okay? You jumped out a fucking window last week, remember? When you’re feeling a little stronger then maybe… Well, we can explore that later.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“I hope you do.” Cilnt stole a brief kiss, only to then go back for another, and smiled against your lips when you ran a hand through his hair. “Until then, you owe me.”

You frowned, not sure what he was getting at. “Why?”

“I painted your toe nails. Now you have to return the favour.”

“I am not going near your nasty ass feet.”

“Rude,” Clint said, booping your crumpled up nose. “But I didn’t mean my toe nails. I want you to do my fingernails.”

“Uh… Sure? Any reason why?”

“Nope. Just fancy it,” he said, grinning at you with absolute glee as he pulled the purple and black nail polishes from your makeup box. “Why are you looking at me like that? You don’t think these are my colours? Because I’ll have you know that I had my colours done and Janice would never lie to me when it comes to style.”

“I think they suit you great,” you said, kissing him softly on the cheek and taking the polish bottles from his hand. Your heart was beating faster than normal and your stomach was doing flips when you looked at Clint’s ridiculous smile. It wasn’t _unpleasant_ exactly - in fact, hearing Clint laugh made your heart all but burst out of your chest - but it scared you.

So, you did the only sensible thing and push the feelings away. You’d stand by the time honoured tradition of ignoring your feelings. Maybe they’d even go away, if you fought them hard enough. As you painted Clint’s nails, alternating between the colours, having to agree with Janice that purple and black really did suit his colouring, you kept a light smile on your face while inside your mind was reeling.

No matter how hard you pushed back, though, the feelings continued to bubble up until you had no other option but to voice them to yourself. Even thinking the words were terrifying. Clint noticed that you’d gone pale and had immediately gotten up to grab you a glass of water and some more tablets for the pain.

Only, this wasn’t your ribs. This wasn’t a physical pain that could be fixed with a few aspirin. It was so much worse than that.

Somehow, against all sense, despite there being a million reasons not to, not least the fact that he was your colleague and partner, you’d gone and fallen for Clint. And his stupid thoughtfulness only made the feelings stronger.

Damn him. This really wasn’t ideal at all.


	25. January 23rd

When you’d agreed to help Claudia, you hadn’t really considered what it really meant for you. On the off chance that someone really was stalking her, you’d expected to catch them in the act within a few days, maybe hanging around the street corner or something equally mundane, give them a stiff talking to (which may or may not be conducted with your fists, depending on the situation) and be done with it. Simple. Clean. Sorted.

You hadn’t anticipated that “bodyguard duty” would involve long, boring evenings spent at a PTA meeting in a house where the furniture alone cost more than most people’s college education. It was insufferable and you almost wished that there was some creepy stalker for you to beat up just for something to do. (Of course, your ribs certainly wouldn’t have appreciated that but at this point you were so done with the airs and graces that these people were projecting that even a trip to the hospital was preferable to being stuck here amid such pretentious shit.)

There was some kind of unspoken hierarchy between the women present that you couldn’t determine. The more outspoken mothers were all tossing their ideas into the ring but only two were actually being listened to and the quiet woman in the corner somehow held power over all of the rest. She merely had to shift in her seat and the discussion would end, a decision somehow reached without anything actually having been said.

Thankfully practically everyone there was content to ignore you. You hadn’t realised that this was a formal dress kind of situation so were lounging in jeans and tatty jumper whereas everyone else was in their best party wear, makeup outdoing that of professional catwalk models. With no lace or sparkling gems, you quite literally blended into the curtains and were more than content for things to stay that way.

Someone called on you once, pulling you from your thoughts so harshly that you instantly went into attack mode. However, thankfully, no-one but Claudia seemed to recognise your behaviour as strange and you were able to subtly slide your knife back into your sleeve before anyone caught glimpse of the blade. With no idea what had been asked of you, you’d simply smiled and agreed to the question before slumping back in your chair and closing your eyes.

The rest of the meeting passed by in a bit of a blur. A combination of a week’s bad sleep and probably one too many aspirins for the pain left you feeling a little out of it. It was a good place to be, though. Your fears and worries floated around your head like smoke, untouchable and ever present, but easy to blow aside. Your mind drifted and only when Claudia shook your shoulders, tearing you from what had been turning into quite a wonderful fantasy, did you realise the meeting was over.

It took another twenty minutes to extricate yourself from the gossiping group. Every time you took a step towards the door, you and Claudia were stopped by someone else for another pointless discussion about healthy school lunches. By the time you finally escaped, your phone battery was dead and your mind numbed beyond belief.

Savouring the cool, fresh air as it rushed into your lungs, finally free of the overbearing scent of designer perfumes and unbearable egos, you and Claudia walked silently down the road towards where she’d parked the car. The gentle glow of streetlights blocked out the stars above. Claudia’s heels clip-clopped steadily beside you.

“Y/N,” Claudia hissed. She came to a sudden halt and grabbed your arm so harshly that you feared she’d pulled it out of its socket. “Over there.”

Following her gaze, you saw the silhouette of a man beneath a lamp post. A cigarette in his hand, he was talking to someone on the phone, loud enough that you could hear the odd word even from across the road. Other than the fact he was waiting in an otherwise empty street late at night, there was really nothing strange about him at all and you had no idea why Claudia had singled him out.

You pulled your arm free of Claudia’s iron grip, your fingers tingling as the blood flow returned. Her muscles were coiled so tightly that you were almost scared to touch her, fearing that the briefest comfort would release all the tension in one terrifying burst. Still, you gently squeezed her shoulder and said, “It’s just a random guy, Claudia. He isn’t going to hurt you. He’s probably just waiting for a taxi.”

“But…”

“No. No buts. I’ve just sat through the longest, most pointless meeting of my life when I could have been at home pretending to watch sports with Clint in my pyjamas. That’s me in my pyjamas, not Clint…” Shaking that particular image out of your head, you continued, “Anyway, I am not going to chase a man down the street because he happened to glance our way. I know you’re scared but nothing is going to happen tonight. I’m really tired and need my bed. So, can we please just find the car and go home?”

Claudia crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at your blunt tone. “I thought you said you were going to protect me.”

“And I will, if it comes to it. But I am not going to hurt an innocent man for standing there minding his own business. That’s not what I do.” Thankfully the debate was cut short by a car pulling round the corner and up beside the man. He all but jumped into the vehicle, no doubt bothered and put on edge by the fact that two random woman had been staring at him for the past few minutes. As the car pulled away, you turned to Claudia and sighed. “See? It’s fine. Now, let’s go before I freeze my ass off.”

“I’m sorry,” Claudia finally said as she pulled up in front of your house. “I’m not… I’ve got a lot going on and I appreciate that you’re taking time out of your, uh, normal work, or whatever you usually do, to help keep. I know you still don’t believe that someone’s after me but… Anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow at Alyson’s, yeah?”

“Sure. Goodnight, Claudia. Try and get some rest.” You gave her a little wave as she drove away up the road before heading inside. As you crossed the threshold, you began mumbling to yourself as you fiddled with your zip and fought to remove the thick coat.

“How’re you feeling?” Clint asked, suddenly by your side to help you remove your coat so that you didn’t overstretch yourself. His fingers were warm as they brushed against yours, gently pushing them aside to deal with the tricky zip himself. When you didn’t answer, he tilted his head and waved his hand in front of your eyes. “Earth to Y/N.”

You turned to face him and said almost victoriously, “GFW 3264.”

“What?”

“The plate number. I’m gonna run a check on it.”

“Slow down, did something happen earlier? Are you alright?” He shoved your coat on the hanger and grabbed your forearms, eyes narrowing at the grimace of pain which flashed - however briefly - across your face. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine. Just my shoulder.” You slipped from his grasp, repeating the plate number over and over in your head so that you wouldn’t forget it. Somehow managing to avoid tripping over one of Clint’s many stray shoes without so much as glancing at the ground, you headed down to the basement. Clint followed behind you, his steps heavy and uneven as he stumbled to catch up.

The computer was already booted, for which you were grateful. You opened SHIELD’s database, typed in your security login and started the search for the number plate. While that loaded, you pushed the wheely chair over to the other computer and began pulling records for all Doctor Joneses in the state.

As the loading bars stagnated, there being millions of files for the computer programmes to search through, you leant back in your chair and closed your eyes. The day’s exhaustion washed over you and your limbs slowly became heavier than lead. You were vaguely aware of a moment of weightlessness before you were enveloped by a comfortable warmth. Strong arms lifting you up, keeping you safe. You turned into the solid mass which was Clint and gripped on tightly, scared to let go.

“It’s alright, darling. I’ve got you.”

“The number plate…” you grumbled, burying your nose against his neck. He smelled so good, like coffee and aftershave and strawberry body lotion. He smelled like home.

“The information will still be there tomorrow. You’re tired and need some rest.” Clint managed to avoid banging your head on the door as he carried you into the bedroom, setting you down carefully on the bed. He chuckled to himself, a beautifully sonorous sound, carrying you away into your dreams, when you refused to let go of his shirt. Stroking your hair, he said, “You gotta let go, sweetheart. I’m just gonna fix the pillows, alright?”

You nodded sleepily, opening your eyes but immediately closing them again as the light was too bright. The world shifted as you fell forward, your body too heavy to keep upright, but Clint caught you and once again set you upright. Everything levelled out as he laid you down, covering you with the quilt and carefully tucking you in. He softly kissed your forehead before he turned to leave, pausing in the doorway before finally switching out the light.


	26. January 30th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. They finally get it on. If you don't wanna read (questionably written) smut, just skip this chapter.

Why had you never tried this before?

You’d never thought about getting high but now you were beginning to think that you were missing out. The last few days had been difficult with your ribs so Clint, in his great wisdom, and complete disregard for SHIELD’s anti drug policy, had spoken to an old contact and gotten you some of these _amazing_ brownies to help with the pain. And they were really starting to work their magic.

The room wasn’t spinning and you didn’t feel like you could fly; instead, it was like someone had wrapped you in a warm blanket of happiness. Never one to pass up a bit of fun, Clint had helped himself to a few of the brownies too but apparently had a far higher tolerance for the drug than you. Where one had been enough for you to feel the pleasant effects, he had to have had three or four before he’d even remotely felt the buzz.

You spent the evening relaxing together in bed, stretched out on top of the bed covers and just talking, enjoying one another’s company. Clint made sure that there was plenty of water laying around for you both to stay hydrated and neither of you were completely out of it, far from it, in fact, but it was definitely a feeling you could get used to.

“You have really pretty eyes,” you grinned, tracing your fingers down his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and his stubble was growing up, but you kind of liked it. It made him look more like a rugged rogue, the hero in an action film willing to go to ridiculously dangerous lengths to save the ones he loved. Well, you were fairly certain that Clint would do that anyway, but at least now he looked the part.

Clint fluttered his eyelashes, all but glowing under your attention. Maybe he was actually glowing. He was basically an angel, after all. A muscly angel. A super handsome, muscly angel. Or perhaps someone had just turned the lights up really bright. Yeah. That was probably it. Whatever it was, he was more irresistible than usual.

“All of you is gorgeous,” Clint murmured softly. He was drawing gentle patterns up the length of your arm, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. A warm blush crept up your neck as his gaze flickered to your chest, lingering a moment than absolutely necessary. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. No pain. I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed since I was a foetus.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

You looked down to where Clint had linked his fingers with yours, his thumb tracing the random lines on the back of your hand. You didn’t realise that you’d been staring, lost in thought, until he nudged your side to ask what was wrong. Shaking your head, you said, “Nothing’s wrong. I just like when you touch me.”

Clint lifted your joined hands to his lips and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. If you didn’t know better, you’d have thought he sounded almost sad when he said, “You’re only saying that because you’re high.”

“Nope. I really like it. All the time,” you insisted. “When carry me to bed or just hold me in the evenings. Or when you kiss me. Especially then. You’re fun to kiss.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You swung your legs over his waist, straddling him, and grabbed his wrists, bringing them to rest above his head. God, he looked beautiful with his muscles flexed in this position. You kissed him slowly, deeply, as you rolled your hips against his, swallowing the needy sigh that escaped his mouth.

You pulled your t-shirt over your head, tossing it aside, then unclipped your bra as well. Clint’s fingers twitched above his head, desperate to touch you but still awaiting your permission to move. You leant down, his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh, and dotted kisses along his jaw until you reached his ear. You nipped at his earlobe, savouring the groan of pleasure that ran through his body, and whispered, “Touch me, Clint.”

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Clint breathed, gently cupping your breasts. He teased your nipples with his fingers, squeezing hard then soothing the sharp pain with his mouth. His rough stubble on your sensitive skin had you moaning his name as your skin burned in the best way.

Returning his attention to your plump lips, Clint slipped his hand around your neck and kissed you hard. “God, Y/N, you are so beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You tugged on his tight shirt, pulling it free from his jeans. “Take it off.”

Clint did as you asked, or rather demanded, without hesitation. You ran your fingers over his chiselled abs, trailing kisses up his chest, collarbone, neck… Anywhere and everywhere you could reach. He was so perfect, even with - _especially because of_ \- every scar and mark from years of battles, that you almost couldn’t believe that he was real.

All of a sudden, Clint flipped you over, pinning you against the mattress. Even in that movement he was gentle, though; just because you couldn’t feel any pain in your ribs didn’t mean that you weren’t still a little fragile. He held his body over yours, close enough to feel the heat of his skin but not quite enough to close the gap.

You wanted desperately to feel his skin against yours but Clint had you pinned too well. The smirk on his face was proof enough that he knew exactly what you needed but he had every intention of making you beg for it.

“Tell me what you want, darling,” Clint murmured, his warm breath on your neck making you shiver in anticipation. You outright moaned when his tongue grazed lightly over your skin. Lips right beside your ear, his voiced dropped to a dark whisper as he repeated himself. “Tell me what you want, Y/N.”

You tried to roll your hips up against his but he pulled back, smirking at the pathetic whine that escaped your lips. You wanted to feel his touch, to be consumed by it. To feel the spark between you grow into something spectacular. Put simply, you wanted Clint, in all his entirety and couldn’t think of a single reason why you shouldn’t get what you wanted.

“I want you to make me come.”

He kissed you fiercely, nipping at your bottom lip then soothing the sharp bite with a long, soft kiss. Slowly, almost painfully so, Clint moved lower until he pulled your jeans down, throwing them aside as he peppered the inside of your thighs with barely there kisses.

His stubble lightly scratched your skin, an utterly delicious kind of burn that went straight to your core. Fingers tugging on the band of your pants, playful and without any real intention of giving you what you desired quite yet, Clint kissed and stroked every inch of your body _except_ where you most wanted to feel him.

“Please…” you moaned, nearly weeping when he pulled away, a desperate need coursing through your veins. “Clint, please…”

“Tell me again,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours, his hands exploring every inch of your back. Your head was spinning, his impossibly light touch almost too much to handle. You felt like you were going to burst if Clint didn’t do something to release the tense coil inside you but every time you tried to make a move he’d pull back, maintaining control.

He held you close against him and dug his fingers into your hips as you kissed him. Clint brought a hand to your face and cupped your cheek. “Tell me, honey. What do you want?”

You slid your hands up his chest, tracing the outline of every _amazingly_ defined muscle. As you edged further down, Clint’s resolve began to weaken, his breaths coming a little more erratically. Gaze locked with his, you were trembling with anticipation as you answered quietly, “I want you to touch me, Clint. Please… Stop teasing. Can’t take it anymore. Need you. Need to feel you.”

“You are so fucking sexy,” he breathed, staring at you in rapture before catching your lips in a passionate kiss. Clint slipped your underwear aside and swiped his finger between your folds, setting your body alight. Grinning against your lips, Clint kissed you harder, swallowing your moans. “You’ve no idea what you do to me, baby.”

“I think I have some idea.”

Circling your clit with his thumb, putting pressure on your swollen bud, too lightly to grant you that elusive release, Clint whispered in your ear, “I wanna taste you, Y/N. Can I, honey? Can I taste you?”

“Oh, god, yes,” you breathed, arching your back as he trailed kisses across your breasts and down your stomach. You were chanting his name like a prayer, too far gone to care about begging now. You needed to feel his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, bringing you that sweet release.

When he finally took your sensitive clit into his mouth, you thought you’d died and gone to heaven. You were losing all sense of the world around you. The only thing mattered was the way Clint was touching you, sucking at you, lifting you higher and higher. But it wasn’t enough.

You needed more. Words failed you, nothing more than a string of increasingly desperate moans escaping your lips, so you tried to roll your hips but his strong hand on your stomach held you back, reminding you that Clint was in charge and that he was going to draw this out.

“Taste so good, Y/N,” Clint hummed, the vibration rolling through you. He slipped a finger inside you, curled deep, hitting that magical spot that had you seeing stars. You tangled a hand in his hair, the other fisting the bed sheet as he pushed you nearer the edge with every glorious stroke of his fingers.

“I’m so close, Clint, please…”

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

Your core tightened around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through you, completely overwhelming and absolutely heavenly. Every inch of your body was on fire, molten lava flowing through your veins as a delirious haze fell over your mind. You felt like you were floating on air.

Slowly coming back to your senses, you tugged on Clint’s hair and pulled him up to you. You kissed him languidly, tasting yourself on his lips. You reached between your bodies and fumbled with his belt, ready to return the favour, when Clint knocked your hands aside. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Don’t you want it? Want me?” you asked, confusion sweeping through your body and dulling your blissful mood.

“Oh, darling, you know I want you,” Clint said, the intensity of his words making your stomach flutter. Your body trembled as he kissed your collarbone, feather light touches that set your nerves alight. His fingers still tracing the delicate curves of your body, he met your worried gaze with a soft kiss on the lips. “But tonight is all about you.”

“What if I want to…”

Clint cut off your question, catching your lower lip between his teeth and drawing out the kiss until you could barely remember your own name. Hardly difficult when you were already floating in Cloud Nine. Brushing a strand of hair from your face, Clint smiled softly at you. “Next time,” he said quietly. “When you’ve got a completely clear mind, and don’t feel like you have to do it in return.”

Your gaze flickered down to where his jeans were straining dangerous around his crotch before back to his face, searching for any sign of hesitation. There was none, though. He genuinely meant what he was saying. Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure? Because I really don’t mind helping out…”

“I’m a big boy. I can manage on my own,” he grinned.

Floating too high on a cloud of drugs and natural endorphins to feel at all embarrassed at the neediness in your voice, you asked, “Can I at least watch?”

Clint’s smile grew even wider as he pulled you in for another long kiss. Trailing his fingers down your body, over every beautiful curve, as he promised to put on quite the show for you.


	27. February 6th

“Thirty seconds!”

You nodded at Alyson then turned your attention back to Clint, trying for the third time to help him guess the right answer. You were waving your hands around like a confused mime who’d had too much to drink and were getting nowhere. Usually you were fairly good at charades; after all, you could use the signs for the small words and it was easy to explain when a film came out and the genre with simple ASL (admittedly, you had been disqualified for cheating after doing that on more than one occasion but that was beside the point).

Today, though, it was like you were signing at a brick wall. Clint was saying random words which had little or nothing to do with what you were acting out and even Claudia and the rest of her famed Games Night guests were confused as to where his guesses were coming from, when you were quite obviously acting out a silence, a sheep and brutal murder of Aaron.

With ten seconds left, you angrily threw your hands in the air and signed Silence of the Lambs before just giving up. It wasn’t lost on the the rest of the group that the tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife. You took your seat next to Clint but the moment you felt him drape his arm over your shoulder you shot up and crossed the room to sit with Claudia instead.

“Is everything alright, dear?” she whispered, while everyone else’s attention was fixed on one of Aaron’s usually very professional and serious friends pretending to be a chicken. “You seem a little, uh, tense.”

“I’m fine.”

“Darling, you nearly jumped out the window when Clint touched your arm just now and even Alyson and Jim have more points than you in charades. Jim is a sweetheart but we both know that Ali didn’t marry him for his brains.”

You let out a short laugh, although it came out more of a strangled cry.

You caught Clint’s eye across the room and he immediately signed, _What’s wrong?_

_Nothing._

_Bullshit._ That was a sign you’d come to recognise exceptionally well. Clint signed so fast that you struggled to pick out what he was saying, but you managed to get his gist. _You’re making a scene. Claudia looks like she’s going to castrate me. What did you say?_

_Nothing._

_Stop lying. I am not afraid to pull rank. Tell me what you said._

You calmly stood from your seat and grabbed Clint by the arm. All but dragging him into the kitchen, you slid the door shut to keep from the prying eyes of the others. The moment you closed the door, your anger burst out. You stormed past your partner, purposefully bashing his shoulder as you did, and poured yourself a glass of water for something - anything - to do. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. Let’s talk about everything. All the things you’ve been avoiding.”

Clint leant on the far side of the island in the middle of the kitchen, keeping his distance from you just as he had been doing for the entire evening. It was probably for the best, seeing how you would quite probably have strangled him given the chance. “And what would those be, Y/N?”

“Why have you been in such a bitchy mood all night?”

“Why have you been in such a bitchy mood all week?”

You all but slammed the glass down on the island with so much force that you were lucky it didn’t shatter. Gripping the countertop so tightly that your knuckles were turning white, and the strength of the marble slab was definitely being put to the test, you hissed, “Every time I try to talk to you, you take your hearing aids out! Why?”

“Isn’t that fairly obvious?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand. Clint looked decidedly unimpressed by your outburst, which just made you even more angry. “I don’t wanna hear whatever bullshit you’re about to spout.”

“Bullshit? Really? I just want to talk about what - Are you serious? Really? You’re actually gonna take your aids out? Now? Fuck you.”

Pocketing his hearing aids, Clint had the damned nerve to smile at you. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you.”

You were two seconds from throwing the glass at him, Claudia’s frustration at you damaging her crystal tumblers the single thing keeping you from actually doing it. Signing as you went, your hybrid of ASL and BSL was made even more incomprehensible by your shaking hands and overly aggressive gestures. “This is not funny, Clint. We can’t keep dodging what happened because you don’t want to hear what I have to say!”

“Why should I listen?” He began to round the island towards you, slowly, almost like a predator coming after its prey. You matched every step, trying to keep the distance between you until it was almost comical - or would have been if the circumstances were different. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“You have no idea what I want to say.” The argument sounded pathetic even to your ears, like a sullen teenager complaining about how unfair life was and that no-one else understood the pain. Standing your ground, sick of being chased around like this was some kind of joke, you said, “I will not play this stupid game with you anymore, Clint. I can’t. If we aren’t going to discuss this like adults… You know what, just leave me alone. That’s probably for the best. I’m going back to the house. Say goodbye to the others for me.”

Clint beat you to the door, not above using his body as a shield to stop you leaving. “Y/N, wait…”

“Move.” You shook your head and pursed your lips. You wouldn’t - couldn’t - deal with this anymore. You were still angry at having been ignored all week, at being humiliated in front of Claudia and Aaron and all their ridiculous friends. There was too much going through your head and you had no idea how to deal with it.

You recoiled when he tried to touch you. Closed your eyes so that you didn’t have to see the devastated look of rejection on his face, to know that it was you who had caused that pain. He didn’t try to touch you again. Instead, you heard a rustling and opened your eyes to see him slipping his hearing aids back into his ears. Meeting your gaze, Clint said softly, “Let’s talk about it, then.”

“We had sex.”

“Technically, it’s not because we didn’t… Yeah, okay. We had sex.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say about it?”

Clint shoved his hands in his pockets and leant back casually against the door. He shivered at the cold glass against his back, all but jumping upright and quietly swearing at the door under his breath. Straightening out his shirt, he said, “Yeah. But that’s not what’s bothering you is it? Or is it? I’m having trouble seeing through the bullshit.”

You knew he was falling back on sarcasm as a defence mechanism but you couldn’t help how his blase attitude hurt. It was like he didn’t care at all. “I’m bothered by a lot of things, Clint. You keep touching me as if everything is fine.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I thought everything was pretty good. Great. Awesome, even. No. Right. Whatever. I mean, don’t you… Didn’t you enjoy it? Even a little?” Clint was searching your face for something, _anything_ , to suggest what was going through your head but the mask you were wearing now was infallible.

It wasn’t easy. It was taking all your mental discipline to keep your face neutral but, thankfully, it appeared to be working. He couldn’t get a grip on your thoughts, which was exactly the way it needed to be. No matter how you felt about him - whether this thing, this lump in your throat, the pain in your heart, was just affection, or lust or god forbid even love - you knew Clint didn’t return it. Not in the way you wanted.

This was a job. Proximity and opportunity were fine things. Every agent knew that. Undercover ops were intense and it was too easy to fall into the cover story. It was easy to find comfort in the arms of your partner when it was just the two of you. When you spent your days hiding in plain sight and lying through your teeth, it was perfectly natural to find release with the one person who saw beneath the fake persona and truly knew you.

You felt stupid and naive for allowing yourself to fall so hard. You couldn’t face the rejection of hearing him say the dreaded words first so did the only thing you could to save your heart from breaking; say them yourself first. “It is what it is, Clint. It’s been a long few months and we both needed something. We were high and things got intense but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Clint nodded slowly in agreement, searching your face for something else. Unable to find the answer himself, he asked the question on his mind outright. “You don’t regret it? You wanted it, too, right?”

“No, I don’t regret it. As I said, we both needed a release. And that’s what that was. Nothing more.” _So much more._

“Just good old fashioned stress relief.”

“Exactly.” _Definitely not._

“And if it were to happen again…?”

“It won’t.” _If only._

“Right. Yeah. Of course not. But we’re good, aren’t we? Back to how we were before?” He closed the gap between you, cupping your face and brushing his lips over yours. It was so soft, so gentle and tender that you could almost trick yourself into believing that it meant something more. “This… It’s still okay?”

“People - friends - can kiss without it meaning anything,” you said, arching an eyebrow and stealing another non existence kiss as if the words weren’t like a dagger in your heart. “And we have to keep our cover in tact, anyway. Can’t just stop touching each other. They’d get suspicious.”

“Probably think we’re filing for divorce after the way we’ve been going on tonight.”

You matched his smile and kissed his cheek as you pulled back. “We can’t afford the lawyers, dear.”

Clint laughed at that, reaching up to brush back a loose strand of hair from your eyes. He dropped his hand, cautiously fingering at the edge of your jumper as he pulled you close. He slipped his arm around your waist and smiled. “I’m glad we’ve got that sorted. I was getting worried, you know? Thought you wanted to talk because you changed your mind or something. Wouldn’t have been surprised but I was kinda scared you’d want to leave.”

“We’re partners, Clint. You’re stuck with me.”

“Can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck with.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Me neither. ”


	28. February 13th

Things between you and Clint had fallen back into some semblance of normalcy after you’d cleared the air at games’ night last week. You hadn’t quite returned to the point where you were sleeping in the same bed - both of you still a little anxious about touching the other, even accidentally - but at least you were back to being able to share the same room without suffocating in the thick, awkward silence between you.

That aside, it was okay. Conversation flowed easily as ever over meals and you spent the evenings curled up on the sofa in front of the television. Neither of you could ever remember what you’d been watching, too caught up in your own thoughts about the mission or life to care about such pointless rubbish. It was nice, though, to have the silence comfort of one another’s company. To remember that you weren’t alone in this.

Because it was lonely. It had been months since you’d even heard from your family and you knew they’d be worried. They knew you worked for the government in some capacity but, obviously, you’d never been able to tell them more. The longest you’d ever been off the grid was 3 weeks and you were well past that now. The urge to reach out and check in on them was overwhelming but thankfully - if you can call it that - Clint always seemed to show up just in time with a soft but firm warning to stop you doing something stupid.

Today had been especially difficult for you, as it was your mother’s birthday. Needing to distract yourself, you’d switched off your phone (going so far as to lock it in one of the safes so that you wouldn’t be tempted to use it) and spent the morning baking in the kitchen.

It had been going great - you’re thoughts had wandered freely and you’d enjoyed the peace - until you remembered that these particular biscuits were your mother’s favourite. So, you took the half decorated plate of cookies down to Clint in the basement, thinking that if he helped you eat them then you wouldn’t have to stare at the painful reminder that you couldn’t see your family.

“I brought food,” you said, pushing a fake cheer into your greeting as you ducked your head to avoid the low beams on the stairs. You dropped the plate on the desk in front of his computer, pressed the button on the coffee machine to make him a fresh cup and pulled up a chair at his side. “How’s it going?”

Clint stretched his hand out to grab a cookie without looking and mindlessly took a bite, his mind clearly elsewhere. “You remember that plate you pulled a few weeks back? HQ wants to know what info you have on it and why you ran it.”

“Claudia thought the man who got in was her stalker. It came back clean, though. Why are SHIELD interested in it now?”

“Another agent ran a search yesterday and, get this, he’s also investigating the Syndicate.” Clint smiled at your shocked expression, nodding along. “I know, right? HQ are trying to figure out whether it’s a coincidence or not.”

“What do you think?”

“This cookie is really good,” Clint said suddenly. He stared at the half eaten biscuit in his hand as if it held all the answers in the universe. His gaze flickered over your face, a strange look in his eyes which you couldn’t quite name. Almost like he was seeing you for the first time. You weren’t sure what was causing it; this was a strictly drug free cookie and yet Clint was acting as if he were indeed high.

All it took was a few seconds counting back the hours for you to realise that he hadn’t slept for almost two days. He’d been holed up down here working on reports for HQ, brainstorming with the central task force for the Syndicate investigation on ways to proceed with the investigation. From what you’d gathered, it hadn’t been going well. No-one had made any major breakthroughs and the Council were getting increasingly more frustrated. As such, everyone was working overtime and, apparently, not been sleeping. No wonder he was acting so strangely.

Behind you, the coffee machine beeped loudly. The incessant noise usually drove you mad and now was no different so you flew backwards on your wheely chair and pulled the coffee pot free. Handing it to Clint, he took a long sip straight from the pot - much to your continued aghast. Still, you knew he needed it more than you did; you could always put on a fresh lot for yourself later.

The intense caffeine hit seemed to snap him out of his frankly bizarre behaviour and you could practically see on his face as he drew his thoughts back to the case at hand. “Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Mysterious number plate. The Syndicate. I think it’s awfully suspicious that two agents in completely different states saw the same car. Could be nothing but we should entertain the possibility that it’s not. They might know we’re investigating them and could be watching us.”

“They still think we’re involved with David Jenkins, right? That means SHIELD is in the clear.”

Clint rolled his head from side to side as he considered that possibility. “Perhaps. It covers us but not the other agents. We should be careful either way. Keep an eye out for anyone suspicious.”

“Don’t you be getting paranoid on me too,” you said, wheeling your chair closer to his so that you could rest your chin on his shoulder. Scanning the records on the screen - the report from the other agent who had seen the car - you sighed, “It’s enough to deal with Claudia’s hysterics without you going at it as well.”

“Is she stressing you out more than normal?” he asked, handing you a cookie.

“I’m worried about her, Clint. She’s going off the rails. I think she needs to see a doctor or a therapist but every time I suggest it she just shuts down.”

“Come here,” Clint said, spinning his chair around and opening his arms. You climbed into his lap, instantly feeling a little better. He had a way of easing your worries, pulling them from your mind and sharing the load so that you never felt you had to face any of this alone. Gently tracing patterns across your back, he asked, “You’re doing your best to help Claudia. If she doesn’t want to see a specialist then you can’t make her.”

“I wish I knew what happened to her before. What caused her to be so guarded about getting help.”

“Is that why you’ve been searching up Doctor Joneses?”

“Yeah, Claudia mentioned him once. But have you got any idea how many Doctor Joneses there are? Over a thousand in this state alone. I’m trying to go through background on them all to see if any have any links to Claudia because he doesn’t exist on any of _her_ medical records. I know there’s gonna be something there, I do, but if I have to read about another Jones who lives with a wife and has two kids, no dodgy history and a stupid black SUV then I might cry.”

Clint leant forward and kissed you softly until you stopped pouting. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your cheek. You closed your eyes and turned into his palm, a wave of calm rolling through you.

“Don’t do that, honey. You know that puffy eyes don’t look good on anyone.” You rolled your eyes at his comment but it was enough to make your worry subside completely. So sincerely that you were sure your heart melted in your chest, Clint said, “It’s a good angle. When you find the guy, it’ll all be worth it. You’ll get there soon enough.”

“What about your search? You’re still looking into Aaron’s company?”

He nodded unenthusiastically. “Yeah. There’s almost nothing there, though. The board sign off on all the deals. It doesn’t matter that he has control over their decisions if there’s nothing with his name on the bottom line to tie him in personally. The company books are clean. It’s all a little too perfect, if you ask me. I’m searching up some of the secondary, holding companies where they transfer huge amounts of money. There’ll be a something somewhere. A partner who isn’t happy with their job and willing to leak information. I just have to find them.”

“You’ll get there,” you said, reiterating his earlier words. Running your hands through his hair, you gently scratched the back of his neck and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I believe in you.”

Something gentle, almost affectionate, flashed through Clint’s expression as he ducked to hide his smile. The lines around his eyes softened, peace and momentarily overcoming the usual wary tension. Almost swallowing the words, wanting to take your sentiment at face but scared to accept that you might be telling the truth, he breathed a quiet thank you.

You wondered when the last time someone had told him that they genuinely had faith in him. Too long, obviously, if he reacted like this. “I mean it, Clint. I know you can do it.”

“I have something for you. Think of it as payment for the cookies.” Clint ignored your protests as he reached out to his desk and unlocked one of the drawers with his fingerprint. Rummaging through the drawer, he swore to himself. “I know it’s in here… Gimme one sec.”

You kept your eyes on the computer screens as he dug through the contents, maintaining his privacy. It was an unspoken rule that you never looked into another agent’s safe boxes whether you were at HQ or out in the field. There was nothing in the official SHIELD guidelines that enforced it but in a life where you were constantly at the mercy of other people’s secrets it was natural to want to keep a few of your own too.

There was rarely anything all that interesting, anyway. Mostly just guns and documents and - more so for agents in the field - pictures from home. Reminders that there was a real life outside the mission bubble to go back to. Proof that you did indeed have something to fight for. Something to live for.

Clint pulled you from your thoughts by pressing something into your hands, small and solid. “It’s good for one call. Piggybacks off one of Stark’s private networks so it shouldn’t be traceable but it’s safer to dump it afterwards, just in case. I know one call isn’t much but at least you can wish your mum a happy birthday and tell her that you’re okay.”

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace as you subtly wiped your eyes on the sleeve of your jacket. “Thank you, Clint.”

“It’s nothing,” he said. After recovering from the shock of your enthusiastic hug, he buried his face in your neck and you felt him smile against your skin. You felt lost when he pulled away, lifting you off his lap but not before brushing his lips over yours. “Go on. Go make your call. I’ll let you know what the committee says about the number plate.”

“Get some rest when you’ve finished that report. No, shut up. I’m serious. You’re exhausted. I can deal with whatever paperwork is left. Promise me that you’ll go take a nap or at least have a shower. You stink.”

“You’re such a kind and loving wife.”

“Yeah, well. If you want your kind and loving wife to cook you dinner tonight, you’re gonna have a nap and shower.”

“Fine,” he groaned. Arms crossed over his chest, slouched in his chair, Clint rolled his eyes and promised to do as you said. Really, though, you knew he understood that you were only looking out for him and that, regardless of his moaning, he was grateful that you cared so much to bother at all. “Get out of here and call your mum. But leave the biscuits, yeah?”

“They’re all yours.”

Mouth full of half chewed cookie, Clint grinned at you and said - or at least, you thought he said; it was difficult to tell - “Love ya, baby.”

Your heart tightening in your chest, you smiled back and murmured, “Love you, too.”


	29. February 20th

“Have you got a minute?”

Clint didn’t need to glance up from his phone to feel the nervous energy radiating from you. In fact, you were so on edge that you could barely stand still. It was a minor miracle that you weren’t bouncing off the walls. He patted the space beside him and said, “For you? Anytime. What’s up, hun?”

“I need to tell you something. And you might want something stronger than coffee when you hear what I have to say.”

“I’m a little offended that you think I’d be drinking some weak ass coffee. I feel like you don’t know me at all,” Clint pouted. “Nothing is stronger than this, Y/N. I have a guy in one of the chem labs who brews this special brew for me; I don’t know how he does it but it’s basically just pure caffeine. The last delivery came with one of those pretty danger of death stickers on it.”

Raking your fingers through your hair, you tried to decide who the universe was screwing over more: Clint, for making him the absolute disaster of a man that he was, or you, for trapping you in the same house as him and the paint stripper he called coffee. “We need to have a serious chat about your caffeine addiction one of these days.”

“If you want some, you only have to ask.”

“I actually value my continued existence, thanks.”

Clint closed his eyes and hummed in content as he sipped his coffee, a look of absolute bliss on his face. It was easy to believe that he was having some kind of religious experience. After all, such an intense hit of caffeine was enough to send anyone straight to the gates of Heaven - or Hell. You weren’t sure which he’d end up at.

Forced to bet on his eternal fate, if you believed in such things, you’d probably put money on him ending up in Hell, impressing Satan with his long list of terrible habits and being left alone to thrive in the chaos around him. After all, Clint didn’t really seem like the kind of guy who would enjoy passing a peaceful eternity on a cloud. The madness of Hell was far more his speed.

His eyes practically glowing, the devil’s influence undoubtedly flowing through his veins, summoned from the pits of Hell by whatever damned concoction the lab had created for Clint, your partner met your gaze and shrugged. “Your loss. What did you want to tell me, then?”

“Claudia and Aaron are going on holiday in a few weeks. Alyson and Jim were meant to be going with them but they had to cancel.”

“As fascinating as this is, what does it have to do with us?”

“We’ve been invited to go along instead.”

“Cool.” Clint stared at you expectantly, waiting to see if there was anything else to add. When it became clear that there wasn’t, he returned his attention to his phone and continued to scroll through today’s report from HQ.

That hadn’t been the exact reaction you’d been expecting. You’d been prepared for abject horror, incessant complaining over how terrible an idea it was and even silent refusal but eventual agreement. Never had you considered he’d take it so positively.

You reached across the sofa and pried the mug from his hands, taking a sniff to see if there was anything else in the concoction that would explain why he was so calm about this. However, the harsh, bitterness of the coffee assaulted your nostrils, hiding whatever subtle aromas may or may not have been present.

Even that brief sniff made your head swirl as you handed the cup back to Clint. You really did need to talk about his caffeine problem one of these days. Shaking your head, both in despair for your partner and in a futile attempt to clear your mind, you said, “I was expecting you to be a little more horrified, honestly.”

“I’m more upset that you took my drink.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So I’ve been told.” Clint balanced his mug and phone precariously on the edge of the sofa arm, one slight nudge away from falling. “Why are you upset about this?”

“I’m just worried that they’ll know something is wrong. They’ve only ever spent a few hours with us. An entire week of being in close proximity gives me way too many opportunities to screw this up.” Clint was silent for a long moment, which weighed far too heavily on your chest. Your stomach in knots, you broke the silence and said lightly, “You should move the coffee before it goes flying. The last thing we need is another stain on the rug.”

He caught your arm as you stretched out to grab the mug. Clint’s grip on your wrists was light but firm, tugging you towards him until there was no space between you on the sofa. His calloused fingers rubbed swirling patterns over the sensitive skin inside your wrist, calming the rising panic in your stomach.

Your gaze lingered on the teetering mug, avoiding Clint’s gaze. You couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want him to see the utter panic in your eyes. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a way to meet your gaze, but the movement achieved little more than destabilising the cup entirely. It fell in slow motion and you grimaced, waiting for it to hit the ground and shatter, but it never did.

In one smooth move, Clint swooped it out of the air, only a few drops of scorching liquid spilling onto his skin. Placing it safely on the table, he all but pulled you into his lap and ran his hands slowly over your back. “Darling, why d’ya think you’d screw everything up?”

“I always do. Every time we’ve had a problem it’s because I’ve let something slip I shouldn’t and then we end up in the shit. If we do this… They’ll see that we aren’t really a couple and realise that we’re not who we say we are and then whole mission will be in danger. I can’t mess this up, Clint! You know how hard I fought to get this assignment, to prove to them all that I could do this, and I’m just gonna fuck it up again and -”

“Breathe, Y/N.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. His commanding tone cut through your frantic ramblings. Coupled with the sudden pressure of his fingers digging into your skin, probably hard enough to leave bruises on your arm later, it was enough to shock you out of your sudden spiral.

Clint looked you directly in the eyes and repeated himself more gently this time. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s alright. If one of us is going to fuck this up, it is definitely going to be me. You’ve read my file. You’ve seen how many ops that I’ve inadvertently screwed up. I didn’t tell you but, before we started this mission, Fury pulled me aside and told me that I was on thin ice after the last few catastrophic failures I’ve had chasing up HYDRA and AIM. This is pretty much my last chance, too. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not perfect.”

“I actually knew that already,” you whispered, laughing despite everything when Clint shoved you away and threw a cushion at you. Even though it missed your head by about an inch, you knew it had been by design. Clint was a good enough marksman to shoot a fly with an arrow from 20 metres. If he’d meant to hit you then he would have done.

You crawled back along the sofa and made yourself comfy against Clint’s side, releasing a content sigh as his arms slipped around your waist to pull you closer. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you murmured, “I never thought about how important this mission might be for you.”

“I never gave you any reason to. And it doesn’t really matter either way because we’ll succeed. You shouldn’t worry about this holiday. I know. I know. It’s easy for me to say but I believe it. All we have to do is have a nice break in the sunshine and not think too hard about anything. Have a bit of fun and let our hair down.”

You still weren’t convinced and Clint seemed to pick up on that fact. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and said confidently, “Nothing’ll go wrong, Y/N. And if it does - because, let’s be honest, trouble does seem to have a way of finding us - then I’ll be right there by your side to pull you through. Doesn’t matter what. I’ll always be there to catch you, love.”

That annoying warmth in your chest was spreading through your body again at his words, making it hard to breathe and even harder to think straight. You knew he didn’t mean anything by it. But it was so easy to believe that the affection in his voice, the gentle manner in which he held you, called you love, all alluded to something deeper than friendship.

Clint saw you as a partner, a friend, but nothing more. He didn’t really… couldn’t really mean what you hoped. What you felt. Feelings you had no right in having and absolutely didn’t want returned because then… Then you might actually have to admit the truth… There was no way you could risk the rejection. No. You’d keep your feelings to yourself and maybe, eventually, they’d fade away. Love gave way to friendship all the time. Yours would too.

In the meantime, though, maybe it _would_ be fun to go away with Clint and have a proper holiday together. Enjoy the fantasy that you were a real couple for a bit longer. It would do you both good to relax, to get away from the confines of the house, the ever watching eye of SHIELD, and just be free.

Noticing the change in your posture, the softening of your muscles against his, your breath levelling out, Clint laced his fingers through your and asked, “Feeling a little better now?”

“Yeah. Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you won’t have to find out,” he said, smiling into your hair. “Have you changed your shampoo?”

“I… Yeah. The store was out of my usual one so I just grabbed what they had.”

Clint lifted his free hand and slowly ran his fingers through your hair, taking a strand and twirling it around. “I like it. Smells good. Makes your hair feel softer. Not that it wasn’t nice before, I mean. It was. I’m gonna stop talking before I dig myself a hole.”

You laughed, sitting up and raking your fingers through his hair. It earned you a squeak of indignation - did you have no respect for how long it took to get this style perfect? The answer: of course you did, you had to wait outside the bathroom for 30 minutes every day while he messed about - but Clint stopped protesting when you pulled him into a soft kiss.


	30. February 27th

If there was one thing that Clint Barton never did, it was take out his emotions on others. Not even those that deserved to be punched (not to say he had never decked someone who had earned it; he simply maintained a level head while dolling out any well deserved ass kickings). From a young age, Clint had sworn never to be like his father so he found other ways to work through his emotions. Or rather work through the intense aggression that came from repressing them.

You had never seen Clint this way. Sure, he sulked around the house a lot. He grumbled and could be short tempered when he hadn’t slept well, was running on his last coffee fumes or had gotten a particularly bad piece of news from HQ. Never, though, in the months that you’d known him had he gone so far off the rails as he appeared now.

And the worst part of all was that you were terrified. Not for yourself. You knew Clint would never willingly hurt you. (Sure, he’d slammed a door in your face on two separate occasions and thrown a few pens and an arrow at you but what were a few small cuts and bruises when you’d literally jumped out of a window last month?) No, you weren’t scared for what he might do to you. You were terrified for him.

For how he would react when he realised what he’d done. The terrible names he’d call himself, cutting deeper than any blade ever could. The regret. The shame. Everything he’d been repressing surging up only to drag him back down into a cold ocean of self hatred, leaving him to drown in the darkest depths of his mind.

You wanted to help but every time you got close Clint shut you out. It had been going on all week but today had been by far the worst. As much as your heart ached to see him this way, you knew it was for the best to step back and give him some space to breathe. You didn’t question him when he locked himself downstairs in the basement. You just grabbed a magazine and sat in the kitchen, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Lunchtime came and passed without sight nor sound of him and you tried not to assume the worst. However the silence was disconcerting. There were no deafening crashes from falling filing cabinets. The lights didn’t flicker when Clint accidentally shot out the wiring. He wasn’t screaming and punching the wall. Only silence. Before, as on edge as you’d been, at least you knew he was alive down there. Now, you couldn’t be so sure.

The temperature dropped as the evening drew nearer so you turned up the central heating and put the kettle on to make yourself a fresh cup of jasmine tea. You pulled your favourite mug from the shelf and left it on the side, ready for when the kettle had boiled, and grabbed your phone to check your messages and voice mail.

“Turn the goddamn heating down, will you? Or did you forget that the basement is already like a fucking sauna with all the equipment we’ve got running down there?” Clint grumbled, storming into the kitchen and twisting the dial so hard that it snapped clean off. Cursing even louder, Clint threw the now redundant temperature dial across the room, hitting your mug square on and knocking it off the counter edge.

You dropped your phone, the screen shattering as it hit the tiled ground. Gripping the edge of the counter so hard that your knuckles turned white, you fought to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Stars and bright lights clouded your vision as your body shuddered from wave after wave of intense panic. “Clint.”

“Relax. It’s only a mug. We’ve got plenty of others and… Shit. It’s your favourite. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’ll buy you another one.” Grabbing his keys from the worktop, he jangled the thick collection of keyrings - ridiculous, novelty gifts from the hundreds of places around the world that Clint had visited over the years on missions - and said, “Look, I’ll go get one now. It’s no big deal. Need to get out of this fucking house any… Y/N? What’s wrong? Oh, god. Sweetheart, are you alright? Why are you crying?”

A strangled cry caught in your throat as you tried to speak. It was suddenly all too much for you to bear. “I… _Clint…_ ”

He immediately pulled you into his arms, which only made you sob harder. Petting your hair, far too worried about you to care about the tear stains on his t-shirt, Clint all but begged for you to tell him what was wrong. “You’re scaring me, Y/N. Please, darling, tell me what’s wrong. Is it me? Did I do something… Today, you know my bad mood has had nothing to do with you, right? If I’ve hurt you, sweetheart, you know I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s not you,” you sniffled, digging your fingers into Clint’s shoulders as you clung on for dear life. “You didn’t… You would never…”

Without a word, Clint swooped you into his arms and carried you upstairs to the bedroom. He didn’t try to pry you free from his chest. Instead, he kicked the bedsheets back and clambered in before pulling the thick, fluffy blanket up and around you both. He didn’t know what you needed, had no idea what had caused this sudden breakdown, but he’d do whatever he could to make you feel comfortable and safe.

Something was dreadfully wrong when his horrifically out of tune singing - the kind that might be used by the CIA to drive terrorists or spies out of their minds and eventually give up all their secrets, just to stop the torture - actually seemed to calm you down. The sobs stopped wracking your entire body, died away to the silent kind of crying which was a hundred times worse. Where your sorrows were just so deep that you could no longer speak their name; you had no choice but to just let them sink into the core of your being, to ride out the pain and hope that you made it through to the other side with some part of you still in tact.

You didn’t know how long it took before you finally came out of that terrible space. Only that, when you did, it was dark outside and Clint was there, by your side, just as he always was. You opened your mouth to speak but the words were still absent. If you didn’t say them, maybe it wouldn’t be real. But you had to tell him. You owed him that much.

Pulling away, you wiped your dry eyes on the soft blanket. You had cried out all your tears; there was nothing but a cold emptiness in your heart now. Clint stretched out his arms to pull you back in but you shook your head and began to sign, slowly, putting words to the thoughts that you couldn’t voice. I’m sorry.

“Don’t apologise, sugar. Just… Please, tell me what’s wrong.” He pushed the damp hair from your face, cupping your cheeks and kissing the corner of your bloodshot eyes. His lips were soft, gentle, against your skin, burning against the frozen skin. It was like every time he kissed you he gave you a little more strength to pull yourself back, out of the dark depths of your mind. “I’m worried about you. What happened back there?”

_My dad. He’s sick. Been that way for years._

Your hands trembled as you thought back to the last time you’d seen your father. He’d been slowly getting worse but his illness had never really shown. It was easy for everyone - him included - to pretend that nothing was wrong. However when you’d gone home for the summer you’d realised just how bad a state he was in.

It had almost been enough to get you to back out of this mission entirely. To stay back home and care for him. To enjoy what little time you had left together. Fishing. Sitting by the lake and reading, eating fancy cheese and drinking over priced wine as he told you stories of his life back in England. It was always the same old stories, ever since you were a child, but you never grew tired of hearing them.

You had wanted that, more than anything. You’d wanted to stay behind and be with your father. He had had other ideas though. He’d told you, in no uncertain terms, that you were to, quote, “Get your ass back to the city and not waste your days away on some doddery old git.” Sick or not, you could never argue with that tone. Your dad had promised that he’d still be here when you finished the job. Never in his life had he broken a promise, especially not to you, but you’d both known this time was different.

_I got a message from my mum. SHIELD passed it through. Dad’s in hospital._

“Oh, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

_They don’t think… A few weeks. That’s what they said._

“Do you want to… Stupid. Of course, you do. I guess I mean can you go and visit him?”

You bit down on your lower lip so hard that you drew blood, the harsh metallic taste filling your mouth. HQ had been pretty clear about their position on this. It was unusual that they’d even passed the message down in the first place but obviously someone had taken pity on you and decided to bend the rules about contacting agents in the field.

Your contact had been honest with you, though; there was very little chance that you’d be granted permission to go and see your father while you were still undercover. Even if the worst happened, it was highly likely that the orders would remain in place and you’d be expected to stay put. It would put the mission at too much of a risk to go and see your real family.

_Unlikely._

Clint’s gaze flickered around the room searching for surveillance equipment he knew wasn’t there. Better safe than sorry, he switched to signing along with you. His motions were cleaner, sharp and almost angry. In a similar hybrid of ASL and BSL to what you now used, Clint responded, _Fuck that. I’ll find a way. I promise. I’ll get you to see your dad no matter what._

 _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._ If you let yourself hope, for one second, that Clint might be able to find a way to see your father, your heart wouldn’t be able to take it if and when it eventually fell through. It was better to accept the inevitable.

 _I wouldn’t do that to you, Y/N._ Almost as if he’d read your thoughts, he wrapped his arms around your neck and whispered, “I know your heart must be breaking right now, darling, but it is safe with me. Trust me, okay? I’ll sort it all out.”

You curled up against his chest and closed your eyes, hoping that maybe if you let sleep take you that it would make this all easier to deal with. In the darkness, though, your mind refused to do what was best for itself. Instead of embracing sleep, it played memories of your childhood on repeat until you wanted to claw your eyes out.

Needing something else to focus on, you said softly, “I never asked what was up with you this week.”

“I probably wouldn’t have told you if you had.”

“Will you tell me now?”

Clint hesitated before blurting out, “It’s a hard day for me. Today. Every year. I mean, fuck, of course it’s every year… It’s a birthday. They happen every year. Bob… My Bobbi. It’s her birthday. Or would be if she hadn’t, you know, died. Been killed. Murdered. Same difference.”

“Bobbi… She was your wife?”

“Yeah. You’ve probably read some of her mission files in the Academy. Mockingbird. That was her codename. She was the best agent SHIELD ever had.”

“Aside from you?” It really wasn’t the time for humour but you couldn’t help try to lighten the mood before it suffocated you both.

“She was worth a million of me,” he said seriously. “We drifted apart, near the end, but she never let that get in the way. Saved my life so many times. Said that if anyone was gonna kill me that it would be her. I tried to save her but it was too late. Bob always told me I’d be the death of her. I’d be lying in the ground with her if Nat hadn’t pulled me out of there.”

You found his hand and squeezed it tightly. A part of you had wanted to know about his ex-wife but now you wished you could just shove that knowledge back in its box. “Clint, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. SHIELD signed me up for therapy afterwards to talk through my issues.”

“Did it help?”

“Wouldn’t know. I never went. I didn’t need to talk to some stranger to work out that I felt guilty. That it was my fault. So instead I trained harder. Pushed further. Ate a lot of pizza and drank a lot of coffee. And booze. Mainly booze. I got on with the mission and haven’t stopped since. I know that Bobbi wouldn’t want me moping around. I keep going in her name.”

You wiped the tears from his eyes as he brushed away yours, each of you feeling the other’s pain as deeply as your own. There were no words, no consolations. You just fell into one another’s arms and found comfort in the simplest, purest way. Limbs tangled, duvet wrapped around you like a shield from the harsh realities of the world, listening to the gentle rhythm of beating hearts.

Between you there were no illusions of strength or distant fantasies that everything would be alright. Only an acceptance that life was shit but maybe, just maybe, it would be easier to keep going with the company of someone who understood so clearly what you were going through. It seems so bleak a future, such an impossible possibility, and yet, in those precious moments, you had hope and that was worth more than anything.

At some point the bedside lamps had been switched off, although neither of you could remember who was to thank for that. Sleep didn’t come easy, or at all, in fact, but a tender peace did eventually descend over you both.

Tracing patterns on your skin, Clint stifled a yawn - understandable since it was well past 2 am. “She’d like you, I’m sure of it. Tell me I’d found a keeper. Strong willed. Determined. Beautiful. A right pain in my ass. Yeah, she’d like you a lot.”

“I wish I could have met her. Bobbi sounds like a great woman.”

“She was. Guess I’m lucky in that respect.” Even in the darkness, Clint could feel you frowning so explained, “I mean, I always end up with the best. First Bob. Then Nat. Now you.”

Too emotionally worn out to dare hope that Clint was saying what you thought, you asked, “So, you and Romanoff? You were a thing?”

“We tried. But, you know… In a different time, different life, maybe it could have worked out. Just not this one. Still friends, though. I know Nat will always have my back.”

“Same here.”

“You and Nat?” Clint exclaimed, nearly choking on air in shock. He jolted upright like 3.5 million volts had just passed through his body, his sleepy mind completely unable to cope with what he thought he was hearing. “Wait, seriously?”

Despite everything, you still managed to laugh at his outburst. “You’re sweet to think that I’d have a shot with Romanoff but I meant that I’ll always have your back too. Although, if Natasha is ever looking for a new partner, let me know. I definitely wouldn’t pass up a night or ten with the infamous Black Widow.”

“No way would you last ten nights with Natasha. I doubt you’d even make it through one. She’d eat you for breakfast. Hell, she’d have you begging before the coffee had finished brewing.”

“Well, yeah. That’s the least I’d be hoping for.”

“That’s one hell of an image you’re painting for me, darling.”

“You must have quite the imagination then, Barton, seeing how you’re the one who’s supplied all the details.”

He pressed a kiss to the base of your neck, his hands sliding down your body, and said, “My imagination ain’t all that but my memory on the other hand -”

“Is all you’ve got to go on,” you interrupted. “Since you won’t be seeing anything like that again.”

Clint grinned as you lightly swatted away his wandering hands. They came to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against his body. You fit so well together, like two pieces of a jigsaw. His voice low, sending vibrations through your entire body, straight to your core, he murmured in your ear, “That’s a real shame, sweetheart. I’d love to see you spread out beneath me. You sounded so pretty when you were begging last time.”

“You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’d be anywhere but on top,” you said seriously. Pausing a moment to mull over his words, failing to stop your thoughts from wandering back, you added, “And if anyone is going to be begging, it’s you, my dear.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounds like a promise.”

“Maybe it is. Not tonight, though. We both need to sleep and clear our heads,” you said firmly, fearing that your resolve would snap any second if you didn’t put a stop to this. “We aren’t in the best places right now.”

Thankfully, perhaps a little disappointedly, Clint immediately stopped his teasing. He kissed your jaw and murmured a soft goodnight in return. “Sweet dreams, love.”

You half expected him to break your tight embrace and roll over to his side of the mattress - as he always did on the rare occasions you shared a bed - but instead he simply held you close and drifted off to sleep in seconds. As you closed your eyes, his body warm and firm against yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to complain. Not one bit. You never slept so well as you did that night in his arms.


	31. March 6th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I forgot to update this yesterday, it wasn't a great day and I got distracted by life. Hope you enjoy the fluff

You grabbed Clint’s wrist and gently pulled him out of step with Claudia. You met his concern with a smile, relieved to see the tension seep from his face when he realised you weren’t in any danger. That sense of familiarity and absolute comfort engulfed you as your fingers tangled with his. To anyone looking on, you’d appear just another couple in love. The fact it wasn’t true almost killed you.

Motioning back the way you’d come, you said, “I just realised that I left my lip balm back in the food court.”

“No, you’re good,” Clint said, digging his free hand into his pocket. “You gave it to me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in the hope that he’d get the silent warning but, like most subtleties of life, it went straight over Clint’s head. “I mean my _other_ one.”

“You have two?”

On the verge of resorting to flashcards, relief washed through you when Claudia piped in, “Well, of course she does, darling. Any woman worth her salt carries at least two. I’ve got three in my bag and who knows how many have fallen into the lining of my coat!”

“Exactly. Thank you, Claudia. Anyway, why don’t you guys go ahead and I’ll meet you at the salon. There’s no point all of us going back and being late for the appointment.”

A little surprisingly, both Clint and Claudia seemed to object to that plan although you suspected their reasons differed wildly. Claudia was worried for herself, about being without her “bodyguard” to protect her from whatever (potentially imagined) threat against her life. Clint, on the other hand, was concerned for you, that there would be members of the Syndicate around who might try and get to you while you were without him as back up.

Desperate to reassure the pair that nothing would happen should you leave them for ten minutes, you turned to Claudia first and smiled. You gently placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Claud. It’s fine. I’m sure Clint can manage to get you to the salon safely. Sure, he did get lost in the maze at Disneyland once but he knows how to handle himself.”

“How did you know about that?” Clint asked as you pulled him into a hug.

“I didn’t. And yet, I am absolutely not surprised.”

His cheek pressed against yours, your skin tingled where Clint’s lips brushed your ear as he spoke. He squeezed your hand and whispered, “Be careful, Y/N. I don’t know what you’re planning…”

“It’s just an info drop, honey.” You felt him stiffen against you, worry radiating from him even stronger than it had been a moment before. Dotting kisses along the line of his jaw, you caught his face in your hands and murmured, “It’s alright. I’ve known her for years. It’s perfectly safe.”

You gave them a little wave as you disappeared into the crowd, weaving effortlessly through the mass migration of people leaving the food court after the lunchtime rush. Not that you put stock in Clint’s fears that someone was watching you, it was a weight off your shoulders to know that no one would be able to follow you in this madness.

Before you reached the food court, you veered left and ducked into a small boutique. It was the absolute embodiment of a typical teenage girl’s paradise. No matter which direction you turned, you were assaulted by a shade of pink that absolutely did not exist in nature. Lacy frills decorated the edge of every surface. The insane amount of glitter could only be explained by a unicorn vomiting over the store, a thought which quite effectively deterred you from touching any of the displays. 

“Well, howdy. What can I do ya for today?” One of the saleswomen wandered over and greeted you with a dazzlingly wide smile. You couldn’t help but stare, no matter how rude it was. And honestly, how could you not stare?

She looked like Frenchy from _Grease_ but on a bad hair day. No amount of face jewels would distract from the uneven orange tan lines around her eyes and no-one should be wearing a lipstick that… intense. 

“I’m here to pick up an order. For my kid cousin,” you added hastily, not wanting anyone to be under the misapprehension that you would ever be seen dead shopping here for yourself. Although, the black leather jacket and dark ripped jeans probably gave that away on their own.

Somehow even perkier than before, the saleswoman said, “Sure thing! Shelly at the desk will help ya out with that.”

You muttered a quiet thank you which she probably didn’t hear over the volume of her patterned blouse. Thankfully none of the other staff were dressed quite as ostentatiously as her and you eyes were saved from any further attacks. Maybe HYDRA should start dressing their soldiers in this kind of armour; not even Captain America would be able to focus when blinded by that many fake diamonds.

“Picking up an order, right?” Shelly asked, barely glancing up from the form she was filling in. “Name?”

“Sally Bowles.”

Shelly’s head flew up, a grin spreading across her face at the old joke. Her eyes sparkled with recognition and she was genuinely happy to see you. “Been a while, hun. You’re looking good. Changed your hair. You look much more respectable without the blue streaks.”

“Has it really been that long?” You counted back in your mind, aghast at just how many years had passed since you’d last seen Elsie - that was the name she’d gone by when you’d known her. It had to be over ten years, probably more if you’d still been sporting the blue highlights you’d had during college. Of course you’d kept in touch but it had been over secure channels, never in person. It took every ounce of strength you had not to leap over the counter and pull your old friend into a bear hug. “You look tired, Els.”

“Look at this place. You would be too if you worked in this hell hole. I spend my day surrounded by squealing teenagers.”

“And your nights?”

“Well that’s classified, isn’t it.” She winked conspiratorially then rolled her eyes at her own action. Searching up an order on the computer so that none of her colleagues would have reason to come over and berate her for not working, Elsie’s shoulders tightened and she became a little more serious. “Keeps me busy, though. You know as well as I do that the thrill makes it worth the danger. Speaking of, tell me you’re being safe.”

At that exact moment your neck twinged, a sharp burning sensation running down your spine. It was a painful reminder of how you were absolutely not being as careful as your mission required. Elsie’s expression proved that your attempts to cover the wince with a grin were unsuccessful. Sighing deeply, you admitted, “I’m trying but you know me. Sometimes I do stupid things.”

“You should be more careful. You always were reckless.” Elsie lowered her voice and angled her body away from the security cameras. “Y/N, I swear if you end up in a hospital over all this… It would kill me to see you like that.”

“They’d never let you in to the medbay to see me. Hell, they wouldn’t even let you through the main door. HQ isn’t impressed by your shiny Homeland badge.”

Elsie reached out over the counter and whacked your arm. Her reflexes were so fast that you barely recognised the movement until it was too late and if not for your yelp attracting the attention of the Frenchy wannabee it would have gone completely unnoticed by everyone else in the store.

Narrowing her eyes, Elsie hissed, “Wanna say that a little louder in case someone hears? I know that your field training was a little lacking but they obviously glossed over the basics of keeping a low profile too.”

You bit back your smirk at the familiarity of this argument. Professional rivalry between the intelligence agencies dated back far longer than either you or Elsie had been around but it was, clearly, as strong as ever.

“I love you, Els, but you really don’t need to worry. I’ve got a good partner. The best, actually. He’s got my back.” You wouldn’t go so far as to say that Clint kept you out of trouble seeing how he was to blame for most of your more ridiculous stunts but you were 100% certain that he would never let anything happen to you. That was all the comfort that Elsie needed.

She disappeared into the back to grab your package for a few seconds. Returning with a small pink box - also covered in glitter - she couldn’t help but laugh at your expression. Elsie scanned the barcode and typed a few things into the computer before sliding it over the counter.

Disgust for the sparkling pink box radiating from every pore of your body, Elsie rolled her eyes and pulled it back. She began to wrap it in tissue paper - white with pink spots, the most understated the store had - to hide the offending item. Not taking her eyes off the small package, she asked, “You care for your partner, don’t you?”

“Sure. He’s great.” You should have known better than to think that, even after all these years, that she would be fooled by your casual tone. Releasing a deep groan, you admitted, “I’m in deep, Els. I don’t know what to do.”

“He cares about you too?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just not in the way… At least, I don’t think… It’s complicated.”

“It always is. Look. I know how things like this go. It’s easy to get swept away with the tide. Eventually the time will come when all of this is over. You’ll have to part ways and you’re gonna have to break it off. Until then, though, go get some.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea…”

“You’re almost certainly right but the thing is, hun, you’re already in love with him. You’re going to end up with a broken heart either way so you may as well have a little fun on the way. If it starts to hurt, just tell yourself it’s all a part of the role you’re playing. It won’t stop the pain but it makes it easier to ignore. Trust me. I’ve been there. Enjoy it while you can because it’ll be over before you know it. The last thing you want in this life is regrets.”

You reached across the counter to take your package and caught your friend’s hand as you did. Out in public like this there was no way to subtly pull her into a hug so this limited contact would have to do. Squeezing gently, you breathed. “I have missed you, Els.”

“I know, darling. I’ve missed you too.” Placing the box in your hand, glitter leaking out from the small gaps in the tissue wrapping, Elsie said, “It’s all in there. Everything we talked about. Not sure how much more I’ll be able to get you without raising any eyebrows, though. My boss still isn’t all that keen on helping yours.”

“I know. I appreciate this. I’ll let you know if I come across anything that might help solve your problem, yeah? Maybe next time we can meet somewhere that’s not so…” You waved your arms around, not sure that there was a single word in the English language capable of describing this particular level of hell.

“Well, I work once a month at a sex dungeon in downtown so you’re welcome to come find me there if you want.”

“God, I wish I knew if you were joking.” She opened her mouth to answer but you shook your head. Already backing out the store, unwelcome images of Elsie in leather and corsets filling your mind, you ran a hand through your hair and said, “Actually, I don’t want to know either way because if it is true then I am never going to be able to look at you the same way. Thanks again for this.”

Less than ten minutes later, you were waltzing in to the salon to find the others. Pulling up a chair beside Clint, admiring the colour of his new nail polish, you asked, “Where’s Claudia?”

“Went back to get her wax started. Sounds painful as hell.”

“Great. Something to look forward to, then.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped so far up his forehead that they may as well not have been there at all. It was quite the amusing sight; even his manicurist seemed to agree for she was fighting to his the smirk on her face. “You’re getting a wax?”

“We’re going on holiday next week, Clint. Of course I’m getting a wax.”

“Even… Even down there?”

“If you aren’t mature enough to say it then you aren’t mature enough to see the end results.” Placing a kiss on his lips, you stood up to go join Claudia around the back but Clint pulled you back down to his level. “Everything alright?”

“You didn’t have any trouble picking up your package, right?”

“Nope. I told you it’d be okay. Why’d you ask?”

Clint lifted his hand to your cheek and brushed off some stray glitter, much to the manicurist’s gripe. The first coat was barely dry and she quickly informed him that he’d have to pay to have it redone if it smudged. He waved her concerns away, more interested in how you were going to explain this away. “You have a look in your eyes that says you came face to face with death and found out that He was actually a unicorn. What could possibly scare you this much?”

You looked down at your hands and groaned. They were, of course, covered in glitter. Now you’d have to spend an hour in the shower tonight trying to remove every last shiny speck from your hair. Before you could stop the words from escaping, you blurted out, “My oldest friend may or may not work in a sex dungeon.”

“The one who works in the sparkly hell that is _Beautylicious_?” he asked, his gaze settling on the little box peeking out of your bag. You wanted to smack the smirk off his face but settled for just shoving the small box into the depths of your bag so that no-one else would see it. “Look at it this way, darling. She’d probably give us a free session if we asked.”

“Nope. No way. I am not even thinking about that.” And yet, even as you said it, those treacherous images began to flood your mind. “Dammit, Clint. Why’d you have to go put that in my head? I do not need to imagine Elsie doing… _things_ to you. It’s just… No!”

“Why? Rather do them yourself? Because, you know,” he said, leaning forward and closing the gap between you. “If you aren’t mature enough to say them out loud…”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll -”

“What? Spank me?”

“Do you want to sleep on the sofa tonight?”

“No, Ma’am.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, way past the point of caring about the two small glittery patches it left of your skin. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” you reassured him. You kissed him softly, vaguely aware of how he tasted of your cherry lip balm, running a hand through his fluffier than usual hair. There was nothing you wanted more than to climb into his lap, have him run his hands over your body (and maybe do a little more than that, if you were being honest with yourself) but you had to reel in your desires, remembering that you were in a public place. Instead, you settled for his quiet, needy moans against your mouth as you tugged on his hair, a sound you would never tire of hearing.

It took him a few seconds to realise what you were doing before his shoved you away, betrayal burning in his eyes. “You just put glitter in my hair, didn’t you?”

“It’s no more than you deserved.” Standing upright, irritation flooded your gut at the fact that there was still glitter over your hands, even after transferring the worst to Clint. You stole another brief kiss and whispered in his ear, “Maybe later, if you ask nicely, you can join me in the shower and I’ll help you wash it off.”

Not waiting for a response, you turned on your heels and headed for the back room, from which a slightly irritated waxer had appeared to call your name for the third time. You couldn’t help but sneak a glance back towards Clint as you left the main parlour of the salon. He looked half in a dream, like you’d just offered him everything he’d ever wanted straight up on a silver platter.

You had the feeling that Clint was on the verge of either falling to his knees and begging for your permission or just flinging you over his shoulder and having you make good of your promise/threat. You felt a surge of power at the fact you could drive him so crazy, that perhaps you had a similar effect on him as he did you.

If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t have turned down either option. You were done pretending that you didn’t want him because lord knows you did. You wanted him. Needed him, more than a drowning man needed breath in his lungs. And maybe Elsie was right, after all; what was the fun of life if you didn’t take the things you wanted?


	32. March 11th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're going on holiday with these two idiots and the posting schedule is changing because of it. For the next two weeks only, I've got extra chapters scheduled for the 14, 17, 20 and 23, assuming everything goes to plan and I get them written. Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think!

Going on holiday was always a highly stressful experience. The last minute panic before you leave your house to check that you’ve got all your documents. Shouting at the people on the road as you fight your way towards the airport, thinking you might be late even when you’ve left 5 hours before your flight. The panic of going through security and being pulled aside for a routine drug test, knowing you’re clean but suddenly wondering whether someone has slipped something in your pocket when you weren’t looking. Going through immigration and praying your visa is in order. It’s all just madness.

As it turned out, though, going on holiday with Clint was worse than you’d possibly imagined it could ever be. So much worse. Not only did you have all the usual problems and fears to contend with, Clint brought so many more stressers to the table. You’d gotten 30 minutes down the road before he realised that he’d left his toothbrush (and passport) in the bathroom. When you’d reached the airport, he’d tried to pet the drug dogs - “Look, Y/N! They’re so cute!” - and was pulled aside and formally and intimately searched.

You’d almost missed your boarding call, too. Giving Clint a chance to redeem himself, you’d put him in charge of listening to the announcements and curled up against his side, headphones in as you listened to your podcast. Little did you realise that, bothered by the hustle and bustle of the airport, Clint had taken out his hearing aids so couldn’t hear a thing. On the last call, he’d almost been stopped by airport security for vaulting over the rows of chairs as you made a mad dash to your boarding gate.

Then, when you’d finally made it on the aeroplane, he’d done what only the bravest (or stupidest) of souls did and chosen the fish for dinner. An hour later he’d scrambled desperately to the on-board toilet, regretting every decision which had brought him to this point, and spent the rest of the flight not moving from that spot until the plane finally touched down.

Your day began to look up when Claudia and Aaron’s driver met you in the arrivals lounge - not that your day could have gotten much worse. (You refused to voice that thought out loud, though, in the fear that a unicorn might run out in front of your car and knock you off the road. After the past 24 hours, you really wouldn’t have been surprised to see your tragic demise come at the hands - or hooves - of some flying, sparkly motherfucker.)

Clint was still looking a little worse for wear. A thin layer of sweat covered his brow. He made no attempt to brush away the hair that clung to his face, didn’t even complain about how bad he must look; a sure fire sign that he really wasn’t feeling his best. Curled up on the back seat, Clint rested his head in your lap, clutching his stomach and groaning in a way that made the driver fear for his upholstery.

There was nothing you could do for him except mutter soft words and stroke his hair. You couldn’t say how effective a treatment it was for food poisoning but it did seem to help. Not too long after getting in the car, Clint drifted off into a restless sleep.

“He had the fish,” you said quietly when you met the driver’s curious gaze in the mirror. He was a regular looking guy - tidy brown hair, forgettable face - but seemed kind of familiar. You recalled seeing him at one of the Cutterman’s larger gatherings. A little surprising, perhaps, to invite your driver to a big get together but then again if the pair were extra enough to fly him to the middle of the Indian Ocean just to have a familiar face at the wheel then inviting an employee to a social evening didn’t seem too big a leap. “I warned him but he can be a stubborn idiot sometimes.”

“It will pass soon enough. You shouldn’t worry about him.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. He’ll get over it,” you said, knowing that, after everything else he’d put it through, Clint Barton’s stomach was more than capable of recovering from a measly piece of bad fish. “I just know that he’d gonna be a right pain in the ass until he’s feeling better.”

The driver laughed. “I know the feeling. My partner is exactly the same. When he’s stuck on bed rest, I think I’d rather take on that hoard of aliens from New York than look after him.”

Your gaze flickered to Clint, imagining how, if he were conscious, he would be reeling off a million reasons why facing the Chitauri would really not be preferable to anything. He never talked about it but you’d seen the way he winced every time someone brought up New York or the Avengers. It wasn’t surprising, really. That wasn’t the sort of thing you just got over. What was worse was that it was just another terrible thing in the long list of horrors that the universe had thrown his way.

Gently tracing your fingers along Clint’s arm, a warm satisfaction pooling in your chest when his body stopped shaking in response to your touch, you looked back to the driver and said, “I don’t think there is enough money in the entire world to make me face something like that.”

“Yeah, I bet you won’t be saying the same thing later tonight when your husband there is waking you at two am to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, he’s sleeping on the sofa tonight. I’m not risking it.”

The rest of the journey passed without any further conversation, only the random chatter of a language you didn’t speak on the radio to fill the silence. Jet lag and travel exhaustion beginning to hit, you soon felt yourself drifting. Your eyes were too heavy to keep open and the seats were so comfortable that you may as well have been floating on a cloud.

Singing along to the familiar tune in your mind, you groaned inwardly when the radio was abruptly cut off; that song would undoubtedly be stuck in your head for the rest of the holiday now. Poor Clint, having to be subjected to your questionable singing for the next 2 weeks. As annoyed as you were, you just didn’t have the energy to speak, or even move. Sleep would drag you under soon enough.

However, just on the cusp of unconsciousness, you found yourself tuning back into the world around you a little. The driver was talking to someone. The car hadn’t stopped so unless he was arguing with the man on the radio, he was on the phone.

“Yeah, I can talk. They’re sleeping, don’t worry. I’m sure. Wednesday, midnight by the dock. Got it. Yep. No worries. Be with you in about half hour tops, yeah. Bye.”

Wednesday. Midnight. Dock.

You repeated the words like a mantra, committing them to memory as you finally did drift off to sleep.

***

The resort was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

It was super exclusive - that much you realised within seconds of stepping out the car - and you could only imagine the number of zeroes required to get you even a basic room here.

Everywhere you turned there were people absolutely flaunting their wealth and power. Some were obnoxious about it; they turned their noses up at the staff, wore watches worth more than your university education and dropped more names than there were grains of sand on the beach. With multiple phones each, they could only be big city bankers or CEOs. No-one else brought work with them to a paradise like this and then shouted about it for everyone else to hear.

Others were a little more modest about their status. While they were absolutely keeping up with the excessive spending of the louder guests, they were polite to those around them and actually seemed to be enjoying their holiday. This smaller percentage of guests varied in the backgrounds and attitudes, so you couldn’t easily guess where their money came from, but you knew instantly that you preferred them to their obnoxious counterparts.

Claudia met you in the reception. In a pretty summer dress, definitely designer but you lacked the eye to say which, she looked happier than you’d seen her in weeks. She inserted herself between you and Clint then threw her arms around your shoulders, tugging you against her sides. “I am so glad you got here safely, my dears. If I’d realised that you were flying on a commercial flight, I’d have invited you onto the private charter with us. It is so much better than being around other people. Even in business class, they just aren’t the kinds you want to be socialising with. Of course, I’m sure they were charming to you both.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, deciding that it was best not to mention that you’d been sat in economy. On such short notice, they had been the only seats you could afford without selling a kidney. Clint had offered to sell one of his but you’d shot that idea down quickly; his body was screwed up enough as it was without losing one of its most vital organs as well.

“Clint, darling, you look a little pale,” Claudia said, her concern palpable. “Is everything alright?”

“I had the fish.”

“You poor soul. I know just the thing to help.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Claudia called over a member of staff and asked him to fetch Clint some mystical sounding herbal tea to help settle his stomach. She asked for the tea to be sent up to your room with a slice of whatever _gluten-dairy-sugar-fun-free_ cake had been served this afternoon on the side.

Turning her attention back to the both of you, Claudia squeezed your arms and sighed, “Isn’t it just beautiful here? Fresh air. Away from the noise of the city. Blue skies as far as the eye can see. And the best security this side of the Atlantic. No one gets in to the resort who hasn’t been cleared or vouched for so for the next two weeks we are free.”

“I’m sure you’ll be glad to stop looking over your shoulder every five minutes.” And tugging mine out of place, you thought. You really couldn’t have chosen a better time to step away from the constant paranoia that came from chasing up leads on Claudia’s stalker. This holiday would do everyone the world of good, you were certain.

Lowering her voice, Claudia said, “All the stress of being followed, I think it’s giving me grey hairs! I found three last night.”

“Aging naturally?” Clint grumbled. “Disaster.”

As Claudia spoke to the woman on reception, filling in whatever forms were required to change the booking from Alyson and Jim’s names to yours and Clint’s, you reached over and thumped your partner on the back, narrowing your eyes. “Be nice.”

“You try being nice when you’ve been sat on the toilet for 10 hours,” he hissed back. “My ass is gonna hurt for a week. It feels like I’ve been shitting fire. The only time it’s ever burned so much down there was when I -”

“I beg you, please do not finish that sentence. I can live a perfectly happy life without ever knowing what you’ve stuck up your own ass.” Desperately needing to change the topic, you asked, “How do you feel now?”

His expression softened at your gentle tone. “I’ll be fine. The sleep on the ride over definitely helped. Forty winks tonight and I’ll be as good as new. Don’t worry.”

“I’m always worried about you, honey.”

Clint cupped your cheek and tilted your face up, his lips meeting your with a light kiss. “You are too good to me, you know? I don’t deserve you.”

“We talked about this, Clint…” you sighed. You slipped a hand behind his head and pulled him down for another kiss. This was harder, hotter, as your bodies locked together. His arms slipped around your waist, strong hands slipped beneath your shirt. You tangled your fingers in the short hairs on the back of his neck and tugged sharply, swallowing his moan.

His lips a delicious red, hands trembling against your skin, Clint kept stealing kisses even after you broke apart. He dug his fingers into your back, clinging to you like you were the only thing in the world that could stop him from drowning. “Y/N…”

“We talked about this,” you repeated, dotted kisses up the length of his jaw. Cheeks pressed together, his 5 o’clock shadow scratching slightly against your skin, you whispered in his ear, “You are an incredible man, Clint Barton. You deserve to have someone care about your safety and well-being because god knows you don’t care about it yourself. You are worthy of the love that people have for you. Please stop putting yourself down.”

“You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met,” Clint said, squashing you in his tight embrace.

“Alright, my darling love birds,” Claudia chirped, shattering the tender moment between you and your partner. She seemed completely oblivious to her interruption, too busy reeling off a list of times and information that you would have forgotten within minutes even if you had been listening properly.

Handing over the key cards to your suite, she continued her spiel without taking so much as a single breath. “The restaurant is open until eleven so you have time to wash and come down to eat, or you can get room service to send you something up. Don’t worry about the costs, it’s all going on Aaron’s company card and you’re our guests so please enjoy yourselves. Thai Chi is at five thirty on the beach tomorrow morning but if I don’t see you there I’ll catch you at breakfast. Have a lovely evening, my dears. A don’t forget to call down if anything is wrong the room!”

When you actually stepped into your room, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was beyond anything you could ever have imagined. Calling it a room was an insult, though. It was like something from a dream and you couldn’t fathom how anyone could find fault with it.

Easily twice the size of your actual house, light and airy didn’t even begin to describe how open the suite was. An entire wall had been taken out to fit a floor to ceiling window, which led out to a beautiful stone balcony. The view was breathtaking. Gentle tides rolled as far as the eye could see. The intense reds and oranges in the sky were mirrored in the crystal clear ocean, a fire on the water, the evening’s last breath.

The setting sun cast a beautiful glow on the white walls and the dark wooden furniture cast soft shadows around you. Each and every wall was adorned with a small piece of artwork. Upon first inspection they appeared as your average expressionist piece but you soon noted with no small amount of shock that they were actually all unique designs by artists whose signatures you could barely read - which, of course, meant that each tiny canvas was worth more than your entire house.

They didn’t hold your attention for long, though. Not when you were faced with a bed like that. Enormous didn’t even begin to cover it. It was far too big for eight people, let alone two. The frame was also made of a dark wood with the most beautiful and intricate designs carved into the headboard. You traced the swirling vines and leaves, gobsmacked by the effort which had gone in to creating something so spectacular.

Naturally, faced with such beauty, the first thing that Clint did was jump up and start bouncing on it. 

“Clint!” you yelled, grabbing him by the wrist like you would a naughty child. “Stop jumping on the bed!”

Still bouncing lightly, technically not jumping as his feet didn’t quite leave the mattress, he looked down at you with a grin and said, “Live a little, Y/N! You know you want to. Why are you so against having fun?”

Folding your arms over your chest, a frown on your face, you actually stomped your foot and grumbled, “Shut up. I’m not against having fun.”

Clint crouched down so that he was at your eye level. He was trying so hard not to laugh at your little temper tantrum, as he called it later. “Why so grumpy then?”

“You’re still wearing your shoes! Can you imagine what the bill for cleaning the sheets will be in a place like this?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re thinking about?”

He tried to argue that a resort like this will have seen far worse than a few dirty footprints on the sheets - after all, rich people were weird and unlimited resources and a severe lack of shame meant they were into all kinds of kinky shit - but you refused to listen to sense. It just wasn’t right to jump on a bed with shoes on. You weren’t hooligans. Even if Aaron’s company were covering the tabs, it just wasn’t right.

But Clint seemed to think otherwise. Effortlessly, he hoisted you on to the bed and began jumping before you had a chance to argue. The entire mattress shuddered beneath you when he landed, the ornate wooden frame not designed for this kind of strain, but it did not deter your partner. He just launched himself higher and higher, refusing to give up before he touched the ceiling.

For the first few bounces, you fought to remain still and almost ended up falling off the bed in the process. Clint caught you, of course, and then refused to let go of your arm until you joined him in his childishness. And really, how could you say not to that smile? His joy was infectious and before you knew it you were coordinating your jumps to launch each other even higher to see who could touch the ceiling first.

Unsurprisingly, Clint won but he certainly made it up to you. He ordered up room service (sans fish) and you sat on the balcony, staring out to sea with the most delicious meal you’d eaten in years. Clint even let you have the last bite of pie. As the night grew darker, you pulled a few blankets outside and cuddled up in one of the love seats. You spent hours star gazing before you eventually drifted away in each other’s arms.


	33. March 14th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. If you don't want to read it, just skip the chapter. It's not important to the overall Syndicate plotline.

The door had barely clicked on the latch when Clint shoved you against it. “Where the hell have you been?”

You tried to duck beneath his arm but he caught your hips and dragged you back. Arms braced either side of your head, he left only the smallest of gaps between you. He was breathing heavily but you couldn’t tell whether it was anger or panic that you’d not been in bed beside him when he’d woken up this morning.

Even in his pyjamas, tattered and faded as they were, Clint still managed to project an air of strength and authority. He tapped his fingers anxiously against the door, waiting for an answer. The unsteady rhythm of his nails against the wood send an uncomfortable shiver down the length of your spine but you still couldn’t bring yourself to fold beneath his intense glare.

“I’m too tired to do this now, Clint.”

“Y/N,” he said, more of a growl than anything else. His voice was low, the syllables of your name thick with a dangerous warning. If you weren’t so convinced that Clint would never hurt you, it would have had you shaking. In other circumstances, you would have quite enjoyed hearing him say your name like that but now was hardly the time for such traitorous thoughts.

“I went for a swim,” you said, favouring a random spot on the ground to maintaining the intense eye contact between you. “It’s a nice morning, you know.”

Shaking his head, visibly upset that you were lying to him, or avoiding the truth at least, Clint said, “Try again. Tell me where you’ve really been and what really happened.”

“Down at the dock. I overheard Aaron’s driver sorting out a meeting on the phone a few days ago. So I went last night to check it out,” you admitted quietly. Clint didn’t say anything but you understood his silence as an order to continue your explanation. “I followed him and managed to get myself on to the boat to listen in on the meeting.”

“Why would you do that? Do you know how many protocols you have broken? You should never have gone alone. Stupid. Dangerous.” Clint turned and began to pace, swallowing all of his anger. The quiet admonishments which followed were ultimately worse, though.

His voice was unwavering, dispassionate, as he pushed forward. This wasn’t Clint, it was Agent Barton speaking now. “What were you trying to prove, Y/N? You know that I think you are more than capable agent. You don’t need to do stupid things to earn the respect of those up high. You can do that by following orders and being sensible. You were scared that you were going to ruin the entire operation while we were here? Today, you might have done just that.”

“That’s not why I went,” you whispered. Your eyes burned with unshed tears and you dug your fingernails into your palms to try and steady yourself. Clint would break the moment he saw you cry and you needed him to understand. “I don’t care what other agents think of me. I went because it was a good opportunity to get new information. We’ve been at this months and still haven’t made a breakthrough. This was the right call. I knew I could do it, that I could get something.”

“Arrogance like that gets people killed.”

“I made it out, though. I’m alive.”

“But you might not have done!” Clint slammed his fist against the door so hard that it left a dent in the wooden panel.

You flinched away from his hand and closed your eyes, unable to face his pained expression. Your guilt pressed heavily on your chest, crushing you beneath its inescapable weight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think -”

“No, you didn’t. No mission is worth your life, Y/N.”

Clint leant back and took in your appearance for the first time that day. You were dripping wet, your clothes hanging uncomfortably on your frame and, most likely, stretching beyond repair. Your knotted hair clung to your cheeks, tangled with thin pieces of seaweed in a way which would almost be comical if the air was not to tense.

“Why are you wet?”

“They didn’t stay in the dock. After a few hours I was starting to get tired and accidentally knocked something on the deck. I knew they’d find me if I stayed aboard so I jumped into the sea. Before I could get back on board, they sailed away and I had no choice but to swim back to the beach.”

Clint’s gaze softened. “How far?”

“I don’t know. A few miles, probably.”

There had been multiple occasions when you thought you’d never see land again, that the waves would pull you under and you’d find your end in the cold waters of the Indian Ocean. You’d never say but it was the thought of Clint that kept you going. You couldn’t bear to imagine how he might blame himself if you died, how it might remind him of Bobbi and send him over the edge. No. You knew you had to get back to Clint no matter how tempting it was to give up.

It was also the thought of seeing his face again, that infectious smile and the soft expressions reserved only for you. The promise of being able to kiss him again, to hold him in your arms and feel his body against yours. Elsie had been right; you had it bad for Clint but today you were glad. You had something, someone, to live for and that was what had brought you back to shore.

“That was stupid, Y/N,” Clint said, resting his forehead against yours. “What if you’d…”

“Please, don’t. I can’t deal with what ifs right now.”

“Tell me what you need, then.”

“A shower. Desperately. Everything hurts and my skin feels horrible.”

“I could run you a bath? That might relax your muscles.”

“No. I’ve had enough of floating in water for one night. A shower will do fine. But, you know… If you wanted to join me…”

Clint’s arms stiffened around you and he clenched his jaw tightly. Wetting his lips, he leaned back and met your gaze, searching for any indication that this wasn’t 100% what you wanted. He found only certainty, for there was nothing you wanted more. Tension giving way to desire, burning brighter with every passing second, the corner of Clint’s mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, draping your arms around his neck. You crushed your lips against his, every nerve in your body burning as you kissed him. “I need you, Clint. Can’t wait any longer.”

You stumbled into the bathroom, tugging at each other’s clothes as you fell through the door. Clint tried to pull the soaked t-shirt from your body but ended up resorting to tearing it down the back. He threw it aside and ran his hands up your side, squeezing your breasts through your bra.

The rest of your clothes quickly ended up on the floor, discarded and forgotten. For a few long seconds, you just stood beneath the showerhead and allowed the burning water to cleanse your skin. Clint stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, a rather distinctive hardness pressing against your ass.

He grabbed some shower gel and rubbed it over your body, ridding you of every negative emotion you’d been drowning under with each soft touch. You moaned when he rolled your hard nipples between his fingers, arching against his chest. You snaked your hand behind your body and squeezed his semi-hard cock, savouring the deliciously low groan that escaped his mouth.

Clint pushed you against the cold ceramic tiles, pinning your arms above your head as he kissed you deeply. He nipped at your bottom lip, the sharp jolt going straight to your core. You retaliated in kind, catching his lip in your teeth and returning the favour. You fought for dominance but, in your current position, it was easy to see who had the advantage.

“Go on, sweetheart” Clint whispered in your ear. He planted a line of kisses up your neck, brushing over your most sensitive spots. They were soft and teasing, almost lazy, as if he intended to keep this up all day. You were desperate for more and Clint knew it but he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted so easily. His lips ghosting your collarbone, your entire body trembled when he nipped the delicate skin at the base of your neck. “I wanna hear you beg for it.”

“I never -”

He cut off your protests with a hard kiss. He was smirking against your mouth, confident in his ability to draw those delicate moans from your lips, to bring you to the edge and leave you a trembling mess until you said the words he wanted to hear so badly. “We both know that’s a lie and I’m gonna prove it. Gonna have you crying out for it, honey. For me.”

“Clint,” you moaned, arching your body against his, desperate to feel his skin on yours. “Stop talking. Do something.” 

One hand kept your arms in place while the other slowly traced all your curved with soft, reverential touches. You closed your eyes to enjoy the sensations as his hand roamed over your body, feeling a little dizzy under such intense exploration. Although you wanted him to, rather desperately, Clint never went lower than your hips, which had to be as much of an exercise in control for him as it was for you.

The entire time, Clint continued to press hot kisses up your neck and along your jaw. He whispered sweet encouragements every time your body responded to his touch and promises of what was to come if you would just give in to your desire. Heat pooled between your legs as you imagined what Clint might do, driving you to graciously accept defeat and just take what you wanted. All it would take was a few words but you refused to give in so easily.

Steadying your breathing, you met his gaze and said, “You’ll have to do better than just words if you want me to beg.”

Accepting the challenge, Clint nudged your feet apart and slipped his hand between your legs. Your body trembled as he drew a finger through your slit, slowly, taking his time as he savoured your wetness. He brushed over your clit, the briefest touch, and sparks shot through your body. A moan escaped your lips, thick with need. 

“Oh, that was a beautiful sound,” Clint said, catching your mouth in a deep kiss. Lazily drawing his fingers through your folds, never quite brushing the spot you wanted, he smirked against the sensitive skin at the bottom your neck. He sucked a light mark on your collarbone, drawing out this wonderful torture as long as he dared. “Can you do it again, sugar?”

“Make me.”

He played you like a fiddle, eliciting moan after moan as he rubbed your pussy. Your entire body jerked when he pinched your clit, a sharp wave of pain turning your legs to jelly. But then he sunk to his knees and began to lick up your juices and that pain was quickly replaced by a beautiful pleasure.

“Fuck, Clint, yes… Oh my god, yes, baby, right there.” You wrapped a leg over his shoulder, needing him closer still. You threw your head back, chanting his name when he curled his fingers inside of you and pressed down on your g-spot. You clenched around him and he chuckled against your clit, the vibrations almost sending you over the edge. All it would take was a few more strokes for you to see stars. Curling your fingers in his hair, you bucked your hips against his lips to urge him on, so close now you could feel it coming.

But then the bastard pulled away. You nearly screamed in frustration as your climax fell out of reach. Breathing heavily, you ran your hand through your hair and tried to steady yourself. Through gritted teeth, you hissed, “I fucking hate you.”

He slipped his fingers out from inside you and sucked them clean. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

On his feet again, Clint pressed this thigh between you legs and gripped your hips so hard that there were definitely be bruises in the morning. The pressure against your clit was heavenly but the moment you started moving your hips to get more friction, to push yourself over the edge, he pulled away again.

You let out a broken cry, no longer able to take it anymore. You buried your head in his chest and whispered, “Please, Clint. I can’t take it. Please. I need to… Please let me come. I need you inside me, honey, I… fuck.”

Clint cut off your desperate whimpers, easily slipping two fingers back into your pussy. He curled them inside you and hit your g-spot over and over again. The palm of his hand pressed against your clit, the friction overwhelming. Having held it back for so long, when orgasm hit it hit hard. Your core tightened around his fingers but he didn’t ease up in his thrusts at all.

He fell to his knees as your body began to shake and took your clit in his mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive bud and instantly sending you into a second orgasm. You felt like you were floating, completely blissed out and drunk on Clint Barton. God, you loved him. There was no use in denying it anymore. You loved him so much it hurt.

The last waves of pleasure still flooding your system, you pulled Clint up and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He was grinning like the cat who got the cream, his arms falling around your waist to pull you against his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, listening to his heart beating as the warm water fell down over you.

“I told you you’d beg,” Clint said smugly, tracing patterns over the small of your back. “One point to me.”

You pushed against his chest, creating a small space between you. Surely he didn’t think he was getting away with this so easily? If he thought he could tease you like that without consequences then he was wrong. After six months, he really ought to know that you were absolutely the kind of woman to settle a score and you had every intention of making him beg, just like he had you.

Eyebrow raised, you asked, “You think you could last longer?”

“I’m certain of it.”

Determined to prove otherwise, you spun around and backed him into the corner of the shower and slipped a hand between your bodies. Clint was already hard and you wasted no time in sinking to your knees and taking him in your mouth.

He let out a deep groan and threw his head back against the tiles. Breathing shallowly, Clint legs twitched as you hollowed your cheeks around his length. He looked so beautiful with that blissed out expression, damp hair framing his face, swollen lips parted ever so slightly as he fought to hold back a moan. “Oh, honey. That feels so good. Please… Please, don’t stop.”

You slid your hands up his thighs and cupped his balls, taking him deeper into your mouth. You’d known that Clint was well proportioned but it still took a moment to get used to his impressive size.

Clint laced his fingers through your hair and tugged on the wet strands, the sharp pull causing you to moan around him. You dug your fingernails into his thighs, a gentle reminder that you were in charge now. He loosened his grip on your hair but was unable to keep quiet as you swirled your tongue around his tip, his control slipping. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so - ah - fuck.”

He was so close already but you were only just getting started. A needy whine escaped Clint’s lips as you pulled back, leaving him on the brink of orgasm. 

“Not yet, my darling. This is your punishment for teasing me.” You brushed your mouth against his, barely a kiss. Clint tried to chase your lips to deepen the kiss but you moved just out of reach. Tracing the line of his collarbone with your nail, you held his gaze and said softly, “Are you going to be good, honey? You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Swallowing deeply, Clint’s eyes all but glazed over. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be good. Whatever you want.”

You couldn’t help but grin at his answer. Who knew that Clint would be such a perfect sub.

“I know you will. You aren’t going to come until I say you can, are you?” You kissed him slowly, catching his lower lip between yours and swallowing his affirmation. You slipped a hand behind his neck and stroked his cheek with your thumb, dizzy with the power you held over him. “You’re gonna be real quiet for me, too. Not a word until I say so. How does that sound? Can you do that for me?”

Clint nodded and you kissed him again. You rewarded him for following your instructions by trailing your fingers down the length of his hard cock. He bucked his hips against your hand, desperate for more, but you stepped back and shook your head. You were in charge now and you weren’t going to let him come that easily, not after what he’d done to you. “Patience, my love.”

You wrapped your hands around his wrists and lifted them above his head, stretching on your tiptoes until his arms were up straight. You nudged his feet apart and ordered him to hold on to the shower pipe, to hold this position until you told him he could move again.

Lips right by his ear, you whispered, “Let’s see how much you like being held in this position, shall we? Makes you feel vulnerable, doesn’t it? I could do anything I wanted to you like this. But I’m going to make you feel so good, sweetheart. You look so gorgeous like this, you know. All open and on show for me. Can’t wait to hear you beg. I want to touch you, Clint. Is that okay?”

He gave an enthusiastic nod, pleading with his eyes for you to do just that. You poured some shower gel into your hands and worked it into a lather, the sweet scent of vanilla and jojoba fruit filling the air. You rubbed the gel over his skin, massaging the tension from his muscles as you slowly moved down his body, washing the bubbles away as you went.

The lower you got, the harder Clint began to breathe. The anticipation of your touch was killing him but you were sure he could last a little longer so you completely avoided touching where he wanted and continued right down his legs to his feet. Then you knelt in front of him and began working back up from his ankles, digging your thumbs into the tight muscles in his legs.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” you said, your breath against Clint’s overly sensitive skin making his cock twitch. Deciding you had teased him enough, you sucked a mark on the inside of his thigh and nipped at the sensitive skin. “Nearly there, Clint. Just a little bit longer. Can you do that for me?”

His entire body shuddered when you wrapped your fingers around his base and he visibly struggled to stifle a yell. You licked a strip up his length, tasting his precum around the tip, before taking his cock in your mouth. You took a moment to adjust to his size and then you slowly started moving, swallowing more of his length with every stroke. 

In less than a minute, Clint was an absolutely wreck. It took every ounce of his self control not to move and thread his hands through your hair but he was going to do exactly what you’d asked if it killed him. You twisted your hand around his base and felt his body tightening, on the verge of release. He threw his head back and bit down on his lower lip, moaning loudly.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” You cupped his face and kissing him gently. His body was trembling beneath your light touch, unable to hold on any longer. Running your fingers through his hair, you said, “You’ve been so good for me, darling. Perfect. Tell me what you want. What you need.”

Clint was a babbling mess. All the words he’d been holding in came tumbling out, a frantic, desperate string of half finished sentences as he begged and pleaded for release. “I can’t… I need, Y/N, I… For you, good for you. Fuck, please, I’m gonna… I need… Please…”

“Come for me, Clint.” You guided his arms around your neck before you took his cock in your hand and worked him until he came. You held him upright when his legs gave way, braced against the wall to stop him from bringing you down with him. Running your fingers through his hair, you lightly scratched his skull with your nails and kissed every inch of Clint’s jaw, muttering soft nothings against his skin.

He came back to himself slowly. His eyes were half shut like the pleasure was too much to bear but he couldn’t quite tear his gaze away from you. And the way he was looking at you, like you were the single most incredible woman in the entire world, made your heart melt.

For a man that talked as much as Clint he wasn’t all that great with words. He didn’t often say a lot, and much less of actual importance, but there was no question what he was trying to tell you right now. Even when he couldn’t quite get the words out. “Y/N, I…”

You captured his lips in another passionate kiss, smiling when you pulled away. “Yeah. Me too, Clint. Me too.”


	34. March 17th

“I was thinking that we could go exploring next week.”

“You want to leave the resort?” Claudia looked outright scandalised at the suggestion.

Clint, on the other hand, nearly jumped out of his chair in excitement. “I agree. Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere.”

“Why on Earth do you want to leave? The beach here is divine. You don’t have to deal with any of the local people and the bar is always stocked. We have beautiful sunshine and air conditioning. It’s the perfect place to sit back and relax. How can you not love it?” She watched Clint fidgeting in his seat, his inability to sit still pretty much answering her question. Changing tact, Claudia said, “If you’re bored, I’m sure the concierge could find you a surfboard or something. There have to be better things than going out there.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised by her response, really. As far as Claudia had come in your estimations, she still wore a lot prejudices which came with her status in society. She had never given you any reason to suspect that she’d be interested in actually learning about another society beyond what beauty products they exported. History and culture may not have been her cup of tea but you were damned if you were going to leave this beautiful island without sampling some of the local life.

“What were you thinking?” Clint asked.

“Well, I was talking to this guy at the bar last night -”

“You were? When? Who was he? Did he try anything?”

“When you went to the bathroom after eating one too many portions of the coconut shrimp curry. And while this protectiveness is adorable, you needn’t worry. You’re more his type than me. He would have destroyed your beautiful ass.”

Clint’s cheeks turned a stunning shade of red. He bowed his head and beneath the table stealthily signed, _I’d rather it was you._

You nearly choked on your breakfast, your own face beginning to burn at the thought. Clint’s gorgeous body trembling beneath you, gasping and groaning as you brought him to the edge… It was far too tempting an idea to admit. Paying more attention to the omelette on your plate than it deserved, you cleared your throat and continued, “Anyway, as I was saying. He said there were celebrations going on next week for Holi and thought we could go check it out.”

“Holi’s the one where they throw the paint dust around right?”

“I mean, there’s more to it than that but yeah. You’ve got the right one.”

“Awesome. Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure, sounds fun. We could find a restaurant or something, you know? Grab a nice dinner. If you want.”

You nodded, biting back a smile. “I’d love that.”

“I think I’ll stay here, if it’s all the same,” Claudia said. She had the good graces not to mention the fact that you and Clint had completely forgotten she was there. She didn’t seem angry, either. In fact, she looked between you both as if you were a fairytale couple, something she could only dream of. Brushing away her sadness, not quite fast enough to hide it from you, she ran a hand through her hair and said, “I can’t imagine that all that paint will do my skin much good, anyway. But you two have fun, I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

“What’s wonderful?” Aaron asked, appearing out of nowhere. “Surely not this place.”

You smiled stiffly at Aaron, unable to fathom why he’d decided to join you all for breakfast today when he’d avoided it so ardently up until this point. Aaron placed a kiss on Claudia’s temple as he sat down at the table, more out of habit than any real desire to show his wife love or affection, and opened his paper without a word.

“Nice of you to join us,” Clint said, voice dripping with fake cheer. You kicked him under the table, a silent warning to be on his best behaviour. He simply rolled his eyes. It was imperative that you keep Aaron on side if you were going to get access to any of his records or find anything linking him to the Syndicate without tipping them off. Clint’s short tone wouldn’t go far to doing that and, if you didn’t know better, you’d say that he didn’t care about the mission.

Of course Clint did care, you both did, but it was getting harder to stay civil around Aaron. Every time you’d seen him around this week - which totalled a grand three times, whereas you’d spent most of your days with his wife - he’d been dismissive and uptight. The sleazy charm he usually projected had been replaced by a hardened annoyance of anyone and everyone, even Claudia. He was paying even less attention than usual and was definitely hiding something. It was just a matter of finding out what.

Manners of a monkey, mouth full of half chewed pineapple and mango slices, Clint said, “Not seen you about in a few days, Aaron. Been busy?”

“Yeah, you know how it is,” Aaron shrugged, barely looking up from his paper. His eyebrows crumpled at whichever story he was pretending to read; it was quite obvious that he had other things on his mind than the imminent extinction of green turtles. “Work never rests. Not even in this so called paradise.”

“At least there’s no better scenery.”

“I prefer to work on the boat, honestly.”

“You’ve got a boat?” you asked.

With bated breath you waited for him to jump up from his chair and accuse you of sneaking onto his boat the other night, outing you as a spy for everyone in the resort to see. However that never came. In fact, Aaron barely seemed to notice that it was you that spoke and not Clint. He just shrugged and answered simply, “Several. This one is only small but we make do.”

“I’d love to come see it.”

“Oh, that would be lovely! We could do drinks tonight and watch the sunset!” Claudia exclaimed. You could see it in her eyes; she was already choosing outfits, deciding what dishes to order from the resort’s chef, whether she should hire a local band to play… If she wasn’t so earnest in her desire to make you and Clint happy, it might have been quiet sad.

“Some other time, perhaps,” Aaron said. “I really am very busy.”

“But darling it would be so -”

“I said another time, Claudia. I have to take this.” Aaron slammed his paper down on the table and kicked the chair so hard that it fell over as he left to answer his phone.

You sat in stunned silence for a long moment, none of you quite sure what to make of Aaron’s bizarre and frankly aggressive behaviour. It was Claudia who clicked back into action first, perhaps most accustomed to her husband’s changing moods. She plastered a smile so plastic onto her face that it must have hurt and went to work wiping the spilt tea from the table top.

Smoothing down her dress, despite the fact that it was perfectly pressed, she said stiffly, “You’ll have to excuse my husband. He’s been under quite a lot of stress from his business associates. I’m apologise for his temper. I’ll leave you two to finish your breakfast and I’ll catch you at lunchtime, maybe.”

“That was weird, right?” Clint asked the moment you were alone.

“Obviously. You noticed Claudia flinch when Aaron hit the table right? I swear to god if that bastard has ever laid a finger on her…”

Clint took your hands in his and gently stroked his thumb over the lines on your palm until you stopped shaking. Lowering his voice, he reminded you, “You do know she’s technically still a suspect in the case, right? It’s our mission to gather intel on them both.”

You pulled your hands from his grip, your anger still bubbling close to the surface. “I am aware of that and you know I’m still working the angle. I’ve got search algorithms running on the records Elsie gave me back home and if we find anything then I will act on it. But whether she’s involved or not, no one has the right to hurt their partner and make them scared. Everyone deserves their basic rights to live safely and without fear. She’s a real person, Clint. Not just a faceless suspect.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Believe me, if Aaron has ever hurt Claudia, then I will be first in line to make sure he regrets it.” Clint’s fingers twitched in his lap, no doubt imagining where he would shoot Aaron first if your suspicions proved to be correct. Shaking his head, Clint met your gaze and sighed. “I’m just worried about you, Y/N. We’ve got to be careful where we go digging and if he is violent or dangerous… You nearly got yourself killed once already this week. I couldn’t bear if I actually lost you next time. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words ignited something inside you, the intensity in his eyes impossible to ignore. There was still so much to say between you but it was all there, written clearly on his face for you to see. It was the same look he’d worn before, in the shower, overflowing with emotions too deep to name and sparkling with the absolute intention to stake his claim on your heart before someone else stole it away from beneath him.

You pocketed Aaron’s newspaper and then grabbed Clint’s hand, pulling him up and all but dragging him towards the nearest lift. You cut off his questions by shoving him against the wall, rolling your hips against his as you kissed him just to make sure your intentions came through clearly. They absolutely did.


	35. March 21st

“Happy Holi!”

The tiny children, the oldest of whom was barely more than five, giggled into their paint stained hands as they ran up to you and Clint. They grabbed your hands and pulled you over to where they were playing. Their English wasn’t great but you understood their intentions so crouched down and closed your eyes as they smeared paint all over your face.

You stuck your hand into the bag of pink powder and ran your fingers through the hair of one of the girls. Her joyous laugh filled the air and your heart soared in your chest; you’d never seen such pure, unadulterated happiness and it was absolutely infectious. She climbed up onto your leg, wobbling as she used the step up to try and steal Clint’s purple sunglasses. Unsuccessful, she settled for leaving a smear of yellow powder down his neck and an adorably small handprint on his shoulder.

Across the street, their mothers called them back - you suspected the message was something along the lines of, “Leave the poor tourists alone”. Before they disappeared, a small boy wiped his hand over both yours and Clint’s cheeks, leaving matching red stripes on your faces. He chased after his friends, laughing and waving shyly as he slipped around the corner.

Clint offered you a hand back to your feet and pulled you against him, lips brushing softly over yours. “You are so gorgeous. Even when you look like a Richter painting.”

However, instead of melting into the kiss as you would usually do, you ducked out of his arms and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Heaving like a cat with a hairball, you scrunched up your face and groaned, “That was awful.”

“Thank you?”

“Aw, sweetheart, not you.” Gently scratching the back of his head, you bumped your nose against his in an Eskimo kiss. “I meant the paint tastes dreadful. If it’s all the same, I’ll kiss you later when I’m sure I won’t get lead poisoning.”

“But what a way to go, eh? You wouldn’t be the first to die from a Barton kiss.”

You refused to grace that with an answer. Slipping your hand in his, you began to walk towards the centre of the town where the main celebrations were supposed to be happening. “Why on Earth do you know about Gerhard Richter?”

“Would you believe that I have a secret passion for German abstract artists? I tell you they are quite fascinating and I find their use of colour to be… _spiritual_.”

“Try again.”

“On a mission a few years back we stumbled on a vault of gangsters who were hoarding stolen paintings. After a long and heroic battle, where I managed to save six cats and a blind dog, I had to catalogue what we found?”

“One more try.”

He sighed. “Before I was with SHIELD, I ran in slightly different circles. We weren’t exactly involved in what you’d call legal operations and on more than one occasion managed to lift a few expensive paintings. There was one job where the target painting was one of Richters - worth about thirty million now - but things didn’t quite go to plan. I got caught and ended up spending an unforgettable night in a jail cell with a very friendly Russian con artist.”

“So you failed a robbery and had marathon sex with a fellow inmate? I can see why that might stick in your mind.”

“You asked,” he shrugged.

“No judgement here. Something similar happened to me once.” You barely heard Clint’s request for the rest of that story. Your focus was trained solely on a man slipping down a nearby backstreet. He was so familiar. Sure, you’d only seen the back of his head but the way he walked and held himself with such assurance and arrogance… Aaron held himself exactly the same way. Hitting Clint in the side, you asked, “Did you see that?”

“Hmm? See what?”

“I could swear… I thought I just saw Aaron.”

“Out here? I can’t imagine he’d leave the resort.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. He just seemed so familiar…”

Clint squeezed your hand gently. “Do you want to go check it out? If you think you saw something and your gut is telling you it’s important then it’s almost certainly right.”

You thought about it for a moment before shaking your head. It probably wasn’t Aaron anyway and, selfish as it was, you were having too nice a time with Clint to ruin it by going to chase after what would inevitably turn out to be a fruitless lead. “It’s not important. I think I’m just seeing things. Come on, let’s keep going. The carnage has to be starting soon.”

You had been promised complete and utter mayhem and that was exactly what you walked into. Musicians stood on makeshift stages, playing out wonderful folk tunes. People danced to the beat, waving their arms in the air and praising their deities. They threw brightly coloured powder into the air and cheered whenever their friends were doused in buckets of dyed water.

There wasn’t a single face without a smile and everyone who made eye contact with you seemed overjoyed that you had come to celebrate with them. You were pulled into dancing circles to join in and, while your dancing skills weren’t brilliant by any standards, you felt the music lift your soul to a whole other plane of existence. You were high on the atmosphere and nothing could bring you down.

Clint pulled you against his chest as you moved your bodies together in time to the music. His breath was warm on your neck, his fingers delicate on your skin as he traced patterns up and down your arms. The music and the cheers were almost deafening but his soft whispers were all you could hear. “We are going to have a serious problem if you keep dancing against me like that.”

“Is that so?” you asked, twirling around so that you were face to face. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“I think you need to cool off, sugar.” Before you could question his meaning, Clint winked at one of your newfound dancing friends and you were suddenly being doused in freezing cold purple water from above. Clint took one look at you and dived into the crowd, rightfully running for his life.

This was war. And you were damned if you were going to lose.

You wove through the crowd, scanning the madness for anyone who might be willing to help you. In less than a minute, you had located backup in the form of six teenage boys. They had seen you, covered head to toe in paint, and their faces had lit up like a predator about to catch its first meal in months. Squirt guns locked and loaded, they jumped up onto a pile of boxes with the simple aim of drenching you in even more coloured liquid.

Desperate to earn their respect, and their assistance, you decided to pull out the most impressive moves you could in such a tight space. You launched yourself over the hood of a parked car and rolled to safety without so much as a single drop of paint or coloured water landing on you. You pushed off a wall and grabbed a drainpipe before swinging up onto the roof of a nearby building. If that hadn’t been impressive enough, you’d also managed to snatch one of the larger boys’ guns and were now pointing it at the group directly below you.

Without a single slither of fear, grinning like the Cheshire cat, they began to cheer for you and threw their arms wide, offering themselves as sacrifices. You shot them down, laughing as they “died” in the most dramatic of fashions. You then hopped down from the roof, careful not to slip on the paint covered boxes (you suspected landing on your ass would not earn you any points) and offered them each a hand up.

Having gained their respect with your impressive gymnastics, the boys were more than happy to help you get back at Clint. They called out to their friends engrossed in the wide madness and within seconds they had spotted your partner. Like lions crawling through the Savannah grass, they snuck through the crowd and before he even realised he was being hunted Clint was backed into a corner and absolutely drenched in colourful water and paint dust.

You high fived each and every one of your soldiers as they disappeared back into the crowd to wreak havoc elsewhere. However, you realised a moment too late that you were now defenceless against Clint - having returned the water gun you’d stolen. If the boys had been impressed by your aerial gymnastics, they would have outright worshipped Clint as a god.

More comfortable on the tops of buildings than on the ground, Clint effortlessly swung up onto the roof of a nearby shack and crouched down, scanning the festivities for your face. Not even a sudden cloud of blue powder above your head was enough to hide you from his hawk vision. Seconds later, he hoisted you over his shoulder, planted a distinctive purple handprint on your ass, and then carried you straight out of the madness.

Only when you were free of the rainbow warzone did he set you back down on the ground. Arms draped lightly around your waist, Clint bumped his multicoloured nose against yours and said, “Using children to do your dirty work is cheating.”

“There are no rules in love and war,” you shrugged.

You realised a moment too late what you’d said but Clint didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact he seemed near ecstatic. His fingers digging in to your hips, he pulled you closer against him and said, “I suppose you’re right. You win this round, then.”

“What’s my prize?”

“We can negotiate that later. First, I think we should find somewhere to clean off before we turn permanently blue.”

Finding somewhere to clean off was easier than you’d anticipated. You followed a few other people retreating from the madness and ended up on a small beach where everyone was washing off. All up the length of the beach stood the leftover remains of last night’s bonfires and the ashes were mixed into the golden sand near the ocean edge. In the distance you could still hear the joyous screams of the paint battle, now combined with beautiful folk melodies from the bands playing nearby. 

The salt water helped to strip the worst of the paint from your bodies but did little to remove the rainbow streaks and patches from your hair. Most amusingly, where Clint had been wearing his sunglasses, he had the most distinct line on his face where the colours suddenly stopped, like a fake tan gone seriously wrong. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t wash away the rainbow lines. However, a kind pair of elderly ladies offered some homemade soap to wash his face (it worked miracles) and then even insisted you join them for lunch - which, of course, you graciously accepted.

Their family was beyond welcoming and the food they served you was beyond anything you could ever have imagined. There was just something so wonderful about a home cooked meal. The food was hearty, filling and absolutely delicious. You couldn’t be certain what you were eating but you didn’t care. The flavours were fantastic, combinations you’d never tasted before which set your mouth aflame with heat and spice and even the odd splash of sweetness to dull the fire. It put the Michelin star dishes of the resort to shame.

Hours passed as you played with the children - a few of whom had been in the group that helped you attack Clint - and shared your life stories with the adults (or rather you listened to theirs and told heavily amended versions of your lives). Before you knew it, the sun had almost set and the day was nearly over. You bid the family a fond farewell, accepting their blessings with a full heart as you returned to the confines of the resort. Security almost refused to let you in, dressed like “hooligans” as you were, but you eventually made it up to your suite where you instantly collapsed onto the bed.

“That was the best day of my life,” you announced without a hint of hyperbole. You couldn’t remember a day when you’d laughed and smiled so much or felt so free. You didn’t care that your hair was green or that you’d be finding powder in places where powder really shouldn’t be for months to come. You linked your fingers with Clint’s and squeezed gently. “I’m so glad I got to share it with you.”

Clint pulled you into his arms and you snuggled against his chest, finding the comfiest spot - one you knew well by now. Your muscles instantly relaxed as he trailed his fingers over your skin, his touch drawing out any anxieties you had and replacing them with feelings of comfort and safety. There was nowhere else in the world where you felt so at peace and it scared you, in the best sort of way.

“It’s not over yet. You still get to choose your prize for winning earlier,” Clint said. “Any idea what you want?”

“I have a few ideas,” you replied, slipping a hand beneath his shirt. Clint’s breath hitched as you drew your nails slowly over his abs. A wave of smug satisfaction rolled through you; you had barely touched him and he was already melting beneath you.

It almost hurt to pull away and sit up straight, to leave his embrace and throw your legs over the edge of the bed, but it was worth it to see his expression when you began to strip. You stepped out of your clothes as if it were no big deal, as if your heart wasn’t racing in your chest. This was all still so new. Your entire body trembled with anticipation, well aware of the effect that Clint had on you.

Being with him was exhilarating. It was more than just the physical, though. You loved him, you could admit that now. Everything from the way he smiled and laughed to the way he made you lifted you up and pushed you to be a better person. It was beautiful and terrifying and completely overwhelming. Sometimes the feelings were so intense that you thought you would drown in them, that you might lose yourself in the madness that was life with this wonderful and ridiculous man, but you would have it no other way.

You stood in front of the mirror, in nothing but your underwear, and met his gaze in the reflection. His eyes were shining with desire, his gaze hot like fire on your skin. Playing with the strap of your bra, you swayed to a silent beat and allowed the music you heard whenever you looked at Clint to roll through your body. A smirk playing on your lips, you turned away to stare out the window and said, “But I’m not sure I want to tell you.”

“Aw, baby, no.” Clint pouted, damn near irresistible with those beautiful puppy dog eyes. He rolled off the mattress and was behind you in seconds. He rested his chin on your shoulder and dug his fingers into your waist, pulling you close against his body. Your skin tingled everywhere he touched, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

Clint rocked his hips against yours, joining you in your slow, sensual dance. He peppered kisses along your collarbone and jaw, soft but completely electrifying. His voice dropped to little more than a rumble, thick with want, but you could feel him grinning against your neck. “If you don’t wanna tell me, how about I guess. I’m good at guessing. I bet I know exactly what you want.”

It was all but impossible to keep your thoughts straight with Clint completely overwhelming your senses. The look in his eyes, burning so bright that you felt the tug on your soul, was one you could so easy lose yourself in. The scent of his aftershave mingled with the deep, earthy smokiness from cooking in the kitchen earlier made you heady. The whispers in your ear of desires laid bare, promises of everything he’d make you feel if you just said yes, had you melting.

“Gonna make you feel so good, darling.”

His hand slipped between your legs and instantly ignited a blazing fire in your core. Your legs buckled but he held you steady against his chest, pressing a kiss into the nape of your neck. You threw your head back and closed your eyes, allowing the pleasure to build as he brought you closer to the edge.

After your past games, you half expected Clint to pull away and make you beg for your release. Not this time though. Within minutes your entire body was trembling and you were seeing fireworks. Chanting his name like a prayer, you clung to Clint as one orgasm blended with another and you were floating in a blissful haze.

Clint swooped you up in his arms with ease and you couldn’t help but laugh into his chest. You were perfectly capable of walking - probably; your legs were a little shaky - but you could certainly get used to him carrying you around like a queen.

He set you on the bed, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. Brushing the hair from your face, Clint kissed you again and lay down next to you. You immediately found his hand and locked your fingers together. Even though he was right by your side it was too far away. You needed to feel him there, to remind yourself that this wasn’t some kind of beautiful dream.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Clint murmured, rolling onto his side so that he was facing you. “Everything alright?”

You lifted your hand and traced the line of his jaw with your fingers, smiling at how his expression instantly softened. He leant into your touch, a soft sigh passing his lips before you closed the gap and kissed him once more. “Everything is absolutely perfect, my love.”

“I think I’m wearing too many clothes for it to be _absolutely_ perfect, wouldn’t you say?”

You pretended to ponder that for a moment before voicing a rather enthusiastic agreement. To say that you were eager to remedy the problem may have been an understatement. You made such quick work of Clint’s shirt that you tore a few buttons free in the process but neither one of you cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know much about Holi but I did some research and hopefully I didn't offend anyone!


	36. March 24th

Another deep sigh from the balcony, the third in as many minutes, pulled your attention from the packing. You’d asked Clint to help you earlier but after witnessing the careless manner in which he’d thrown his clothes into the suitcase - honestly, a child could have done a better job - you’d resolved to do it yourself. Unfortunately, it was a little difficult to get lost in the mundane escapism of folding pants when it was accompanied by a distracting backing track of Clint’s sorrows.

Packing abandoned for now, you perched yourself on the balcony railing opposite Clint and nudged his leg with your foot. He barely acknowledged you were there so you kicked him again, slightly harder than before. His eyes widened and he reached to grab a weapon that wasn’t there but he relaxed when he realised it was only you that had jolted him from his thoughts.

“Are you alright, Clint?” you asked softly. “You’ve been a little down today. What’s up? You sad to be leaving paradise?”

He shook his head and took a sip from an empty coffee mug. “I got a message from HQ. They want us to come and report in when we get back to the US.”

That didn’t sound too bad. It was a little unexpected, sure, but you’d honestly been fearing a worse answer. While you weren’t overly excited to spend a day avoiding Alice from accounting - you weren’t entirely convinced that a last minute return flight to the middle of the Indian Ocean could be claimed on your expenses - going back to HQ really wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t the first time you’d been recalled for a meeting and it wouldn’t be the last. You couldn’t see why Clint was so unenthused about returning.

You reached down and pulled the cup from his hands and set it on the small glass table before he could lick it clean for the final few drops of caffeine. Clint whimpered at the loss of his drink but you kissed his cheek and said, “It’s empty, honey. I’ll get you another cup in a minute. And as for HQ, it’s only a day’s detour before we go home. We’ll survive.”

“You don’t get it.”

A frown settled on your face at his sharp tone. After everything that you’d done together these past two weeks, the strides you had taken in your relationship, there wasn’t really much left to hide from one another. What could possibly have changed since this morning for him to be acting like this? It was like you’d gone back 6 months to when you’d only just met and every single conversation had been prickly and every word a sharp sword of indignation and resentment, ready to cut you into pieces.

Keeping the hurt from your voice, you said softly, “Obviously not. Come on, Clint. Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. You know that you can tell me anything. It’ll be fine. Please.”

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s not going to be fine,” he groaned. He raked his fingers through his hair and stared up at the sky hopefully, as if it might fall down on him and end his misery. When no such reprieve came, Clint pushed himself up from the chair and began pacing around the balcony.

“Clint?” He refused to meet your concerned gaze and kept his eyes low even when you caught his wrist. “Tell me what’s wrong. Why are you being like this?”

“We can’t go into SHIELD HQ and act like everything is alright after… this. We were walking a thin line already and these past two weeks we well and truly crossed that bridge and now there’s no going back to how it was before. Anyone with half a brain is gonna see that our relationship is no longer professional.”

The wooden rail was at risk from splintering under your iron grip but you couldn’t relax your grip. Your heart was thumping in your ears, panic surging through your veins. This wasn’t right. Voice trembling, you breathed, “What are you saying? Do you… do you regret it? Us? Getting involved with me?”

Clint was by your side instantly, circling his arms around your waist. “I regret a lot of things but not that. Not this. Of course not.”

You let out a sob of relief and buried your head in his chest. His gentle touch, fingers tracing random patterns on your back, calmed your racing heart and pulled you free of the dark fears in your mind. Once you were able to think clearly, you pulled away and punched him in the shoulder.

Rubbing his shoulder, Clint made a pained face and asked, “What the hell was that for?”

“For being a dick! For making me think that you didn’t lo… didn’t want me around anymore. That maybe you regretted all of this and were worried what HQ might think. That you’d throw me to the wolves in personnel if it meant brushing this affair away and keeping your position on the case.”

Clint’s eyes widened before hardening slightly. If you didn’t know him so well you would have missed the anger, the hurt, in his glare. He hid it well, a skill learned over years of repressing feelings in the name of the greater good, but it was there in the lines around his eyes and the tight press of his lips. “You think that little of me? Or that I care so little for you that I’d do that?”

You shook your head, already sick with regret over your words. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I know… I know you would never do that. Why are you upset about going back to HQ? Really?”

“It’s only going to be bad news. Sure, we get recalled a lot but they never pull an entire team from the field unless it’s important. These past two weeks have been some of the best of my life and I almost forgot that we had a job to do. I don’t want to leave and for things to change.”

“They don’t have to. It can stay this way, if we want,” you said. Your hand found his and you linked your fingers together as you kissed. “I mean, it’ll be a hardship to deal with your snoring -”

“I don’t snore!” Clint retorted. “And what about me? Having to share a bed with your freezing cold feet? You don’t know real hardship until you’ve been woken up at three in the morning by an ice block against your leg. You could wear socks, you know? That’s a normal thing for people to do.”

“If you don’t like my cold feet then you’re more than welcome to go back to sleeping on the floor.”

Clint pretended to think about it for a moment before announcing that he’d make do, like it was a big sacrifice. He pulled you off the railing and down into the chair with him, setting you comfortably in his lap. He gave your thigh a hard squeeze to stop you from wriggling, a beautiful blush rising to his cheeks, a soft gasp slipping from his lips.

“Get your mind out the gutter, Barton. We’re not done talking yet.”

“Yet? So when we’ve finished talking…”

You rolled your eyes but certainly didn’t dismiss the idea. Bringing the conversation back around and on track, you ran your fingers through his hair and asked, “What else is bothering you, Clint?”

“We both know how SHIELD feels about relationships between field agents. They can’t know. It’s not worth facing the fall out. And I know it’s what we do but I don’t like lying to my friends.”

You understood but sometimes keeping secrets was necessary. The both of you had too much riding on this mission to risk losing it just because you couldn’t last a few hours without touching each other. You could justify not telling anyone to yourself as simply withholding certain facts - that sounded better than calling it lying - but Clint didn’t seem so convinced.

“It’s only for one day.”

“But it’s an entire day that I’m gonna have to spend dodging questions and trying to convince everyone I know that I’m not head over fucking heels for you.”

“You mean that?” Your heart skipped a beat at hearing the words you’d only dreamed about spoken aloud. Of course you’d known how he felt, you may have been a bit clueless before but it had become pretty clear over the past few weeks. Doubt had still hung heavy, though, that maybe he wasn’t serious and didn’t really feel the same as you, that this was only a physical thing, and it was hard to shake.

Seemingly sensing that, Clint took your hands in his and decided to wipe away your doubts completely. Running his thumbs over your knuckles, he said softly, “I think it’s pretty obvious how I feel about you, Y/N. That’s completely and utterly in love with you, in case I wasn’t clear. I’m know I’m not great with words, obviously, but that’s the truth. It’s been a long time coming and if I’d realised you didn’t know then I would have -”

You kissed him hard, cutting off his ramblings and shifting in his lap so that you were straddling him. Clint grabbed your waist and a quiet moan escaped his lips when you rolled your hips against his. Between your kisses, which with every passing second were becoming hungrier and more filled with need, you said, over and over, “I love you, too, Clint. So much.”


	37. March 27th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was meant to upload this yesterday but had some technical issues. Anyway, here it is now, I hope you enjoy this monster chapter.

Mind if I join you?”

Your jaw dropped as you turned away from the bar to take in the woman. She was utterly gorgeous, there was no question about it. Beautiful red hair, immaculately curled to look as if no effort had been put in at all, hung around her face, just gracing her shoulders. Even in casual dress - jeans, t-shirt and a simple jacket - she looked like a million dollars.

There was a confidence in her expression that was unparalleled and completely irresistible, underpinned by a mysteriousness, almost dangerous, that latched on to your very soul and pulled you in. She knew she was beautiful and was more than happy to show the world. As she leant back against the bar, manicured nails tapping on the wooden bar top, she openly smirked at the way you gawked.

There was absolutely no mistaking who this could be: the Black Widow herself, Natasha Romanoff. And, of course, she had no idea who you were.

“Uh huh,” you muttered. You were making an absolute fool of yourself but didn’t even care. How could you when face to face with someone as beautiful as she? “Take a seat.”

“Thanks.” She waved to the bartender who just nodded and set about grabbing her usual drink. Forgetting about him instantly, she turned her attentions back on you and introduced herself. “I’m Nat. What’s your name?”

Panic swept through you. What was your name? All of a sudden, you couldn’t remember the most basic piece of information about yourself. You wondered whether she had this effect on everyone or whether you were just particularly hopeless. Sadly, it was probably the latter. Thankfully, by some miracle, you managed to pull together some semblance of dignity and answer her question. “Y/N. I, uh, that’s my name.”

“Beautiful.” Natasha leant forward, closing the gap between you just an inch but her presence was so overwhelming that you could barely breathe. She reached out and trailed her fingers up the length of your arm, all the while maintaining such intense eye contact that you could have fallen into Hell and not noticed. “What you doing here in New York, Y/N? Anything fun?”

“Just work,” you breathed, almost proud of yourself for getting an answer out without stuttering. Even though you already knew the answer, you found yourself asking, “What about you?”

“You fancy going out later?” she asked, completely ignoring your question. Natasha wet her lips as her predatory gaze continued to roam, falling to your chest and then settling back on your mouth. “I know this wonderful club we could go to.”

“I, uh… I’m kinda married.”

Hand in your pocket, she hadn’t seen the ring on your finger, but that piqued her interest for sure. “Kind of? That sounds like something I can still work with. Unless your wife - husband? - isn’t willing to share. Of course, I can see why they’d want to keep you to themselves.”

“Stop teasing her, Nat. Don’t go scaring my partner away, now,” Clint said, coming to your rescue before you made an even bigger fool of yourself. Immediately noticing your odd behaviour, he put two and two together and absolutely beamed over the conclusion he reached. Winking at you, he added, “Or stealing her away for that matter. She’s mine.”

“Oh!” Natasha’s eyes lit up as she looked between you and Clint. “You’re the Y/N.”

“Yes, she’s the one and only but you’re supposed to be giving me some love, not her.” He wiped his hands on his jeans before pulling the redhead into a tight hug. “Missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you too,” Natasha said, ducking out of the embrace with a dramatic eye roll. Her entire posture changed now that Clint was around and you realised with a start just how tense and alert she’d been before. Sure, she’d been light and flirty but Natasha had been ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Even now there was still a stiffness in her muscles and you made a mental note never to piss her off if she was this dangerous relaxed.

Natasha took a sip of her beer and returned her attention to you. Under her intense glare, you felt like a test subject in a lab, trapped with nowhere to run. The shift in her gaze was fascinating; where before she’d regarded you as prey, just another beautiful woman to take home for the night, she was now properly studying you. Every facet of your appearance, your body language, was being dissected as she calculated how to take you out, should that time come.

In the short time it took her to make her entire assessment of you - probably including how you’d attack, which side you favoured during a fight and how you took your coffee - all you’d managed to glean was that she had a gun hidden beneath her jacket. But then Natasha was renowned for her skills and you were just another agent who’d had to beg for their big shot.

Helping herself to the chips on your plate, Natasha asked, “So how’s it going? You’ve not killed Clint yet which must be coming close to a record. If you make it through the year, they’ll probably give you a medal.”

“Hey! I’m delightful,” Clint protested, reaching over and also helping himself to your food. “Ignore Natasha, she’s just not cool enough to deal with my awesomeness.”

“That’s the best comeback you’ve got? A five year old could come up with something better. You’re losing your touch.” Natasha shook her head in disappointment, although a smile played on the corner of her lips. “Y/N, have you finished eating? We should get moving now. You’re expected for a meeting in ten.”

You spared a glance, and a sad thought, for your empty plate, the last of your chips having been demolished by the bottomless pit that was Clint Barton. Lowering your voice even though the bar was so busy that no one would have overheard you anyway, you pointed out, “Bit of a problem. We don’t have our security passes.”

Clint whipped out two ID badges and waved them in front of your face. “Ta da!”

“When did you get those?” you asked, snatching yours from his hand and shoving it into your pocket. You weren’t exactly keen to advertise that you were working for SHIELD given you were meant to still be undercover.

“When I went to the bathroom.”

You decided it was safer not to query the strange, secret interactions that your partner was apparently having in public toilets. So long as he’d washed his hands afterwards, there really wasn’t any point considering the matter further. After all, some things were better left unknown.

Following Clint and Natasha’s lead, you grabbed your coat and bag and left the bar, heading to HQ. You fell behind the pair, dropping back a few hundred metres but keeping them in eyesight so that they could catch up in private. You were quite content to let your mind wander for a while as you walked through the busy streets of New York.

Being back was a surreal experience after spending so long in a small town. It was like everything had been dialled up to eleven. The polluted air clung to your skin, thick with car fumes and cigarette smoke and knock off perfumes. The symphony of the city was absolutely deafening, coming at you from every direction. Disorientated didn’t even begin to describe how you were feeling.

So lost in your thoughts were you that you nearly got run over by angry taxi cabs on three separate occasions. You met their aggressive threats with shouts of your own, lifting a finger to the especially rude men in the back of one cab who decided it was appropriate to tell you how beautiful you looked when you were angry. It was almost funny how easy it was to slip back into the mindset of a New Yorker, your tolerance for dealing with shit plummeting with every passing second.

You tugged your coat a little tighter around you, the chilly breeze seeping into your core, and realised with a start that you’d lost sight of Clint and Natasha. It wasn’t the end of the world - after all, you knew where HQ was - but you suddenly became an awful lot more aware of crowd closing in around you and the unfriendly stares coming. You picked up the pace as much as you dared to without attracting further unwelcome attention but it didn’t help to ease your mind at all.

Especially not when, in the window of a passing shop, you caught sight of a group of men following you.

Closing in at an alarming speed, they bulldozed a path through the crowds with the confidence and lack of regard for human life which could even a seasoned New Yorker would be impressed by. They weren’t even trying to be subtle which could only mean that they were armed and dangerous and absolutely willing to snatch you straight from the pavement, even with all these witnesses around.

SHIELD Headquarters was only two blocks away but that short distance seemed too far away right now. With no other choice, needing to get off the street now, you ducked into the first building you could. It was a law firm of some kind; you didn’t stop to take a proper look. Instead, you headed straight for the stairwell and began to climb as fast as your legs would manage. There was no logic, no plan, behind your actions. All you knew was that you needed to keep moving and up seemed as good a direction as any.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and called Clint as you ascended up the building. The tone beeped once, twice, three times. Each time the tone sounded your panic spiked further and your hands were so sweaty that you almost dropped the phone. Heavy footsteps sounded from below as the men stormed after you.

Acid burned your muscles as you pushed them harder. The pain was unimaginable but you kept on going, well aware that stopping would likely mean death. Between deep, desperate breaths, you prayed, “Come on, come on! Pick up the fucking phone.”

“Y/N?”

“Clint,” you sobbed, relief rushing through you. You pressed the phone to your ear and, through heavy gasps, tried to explain what was happening. “I’m being followed. Armed. They’re armed. So many stairs. My legs. Clint, I’m gonna die. They’re going to kill me.”

“Where are you, Y/N? Tell me where you. I’m coming to get you.”

“Some law firm. Two blocks back.” The footsteps were getting closer and the gap between you was shrinking at a ridiculous rate. You couldn’t have kept up this pace on flat ground, let alone trying to climb up almost 20 floors worth of stairs. “Clint, I don’t know what to do.”

“Just keep moving. Don’t stop. Get as high as you can.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. It’s alright. You’re fine. Just keep moving. How many more floors are there above you?”

You bent over the handrail as you rounded the corner and looked up, jumping back when a bullet brushed past your cheek. With renewed enthusiasm, you ignore your body’s protests and pushed it beyond what it should have been capable of. Just a few more steps, you chanted, over and over in your mind as if it might actually help.

On the line, Clint’s worried voice sounded again. “Y/N, are you still there?”

“I’m here. Ten, fifteen floors. I can’t, Clint. Too many.”

“If you can get to the roof, we can get you out of there.”

A door slammed against the concrete wall and another set of heavy boots echoed down the stairwell. Only, these were sounding from above. They were trapping you in like an animal, leaving you nowhere to run.

“Not an option. They’re coming down.”

“The next door you pass, take it. Get into one of the office floors and out of the stairwell.”

You couldn’t see the point in the plan - after all, if they’d been willing to grab you on the street, surrounded by hundreds of people, then a half full office wasn’t going to stop them - but considering your other option was dying alone in a concrete stairwell the choice was clear.

Through the door to the 18th floor, you stumbled down the hallway and into the first open room. You fumbled with the lock, pulling a pin from your hair and snapping it in the mechanism, then switched off the light. Completely in the dark, you slumped against the solid door and hung your head between your legs, desperately trying to catch a breath.

“Y/N?”

“I’m here,” you croaked. “Locked in an office. Lights off. No one saw.”

“Good. That was smart.”

“They’ll still find me.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Close your eyes and try to catch your breath. We’re working on an extraction to get you out of there. Just need a few more minutes and then you’ll be safe. Okay? Trust me. You trust me, don’t you, Y/N?”

You nodded, realising a moment later that he couldn’t see the action. Barely more than a whisper, your tight throat burning with every breath, you replied, “With my life.”

“Well, that is good to hear. Stay with me now, alright? Can’t go losing you like this. It’s your turn to cook dinner.”

“It’s always my turn to cook dinner. You’ve never so much as breathed on the stove.”

“Now that’s unfair. I use it to make coffee when the machines are broken. And I cooked noodles the other day.”

“That was three months ago and you nearly burned down the house.”

“In my defence -”

The wall suddenly shuddered as a nearby door was kicked down. Outside, you could hear the men’s heavy footsteps growing nearer. There was no attempt to hide their approach; they were on a mission and had every intention to take you, or kill you. Really, they had no need to be subtle when you were trapped, by your own stupid actions, in a room with nowhere left to run.

Above your head, the doorknob rattled violently as they tried to force their way into the room. “In here, boys!”

You barely managed to crawl behind the desk before the bullets started flying. Somewhat worryingly, perhaps, the sound of bullets flying actually calmed your thoughts. Then again, the threat of imminent death did tend to focus the mind. You pressed the phone to your cheek and hissed, “Clint? I need that extraction.”

“Stay calm. Backup is on the way.”

“No. I need it _now_ or they’ll be dragging my body back in a nice black bag.” You braved a quick glance over desk and your stomach dropped at what you saw. They were seconds from shooting out the lock. There wasn’t enough time to barricade the door and you were out of options.

You were a good agent but your technical skills meant nothing here. You weren’t like Natasha or the Cavalry; you couldn’t fight your way out of this, hand to hand against impossible odds. Even if there had been something useful to hand, you weren’t smart enough to MacGyver a solution.

Curling your legs against your chest, squeezing into the small space beneath the desk, you closed your eyes tightly. You’d always been aware that there was a very real possibility of being killed in this job - every agent knew that and you were prepared - but that didn’t mean you wanted to face it alone or like this. “What do I do, Clint? I don’t want to die.”

His answer was lost beneath the harsh crack of the door being kicked down. You held your breath and waited for the bite of a bullet (or twenty) to tear through your body but they never came. Somehow that was worse.

Your eyes flung open when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you instinctively began to fight, clawing at the shadow of a man in the darkness. It didn’t deter him though and he grabbed your forearms, shaking you gently. “Hey, hey, it’s alright.”

“Clint?”

“Yeah, sugar, it’s me. You’re safe now.” Clint wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back as a strangled sob fell from your lips. He pressed a kiss to your hairline then helped you to your feet. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

In the hallway, the bodies of the men were already being covered and prepared for transport to SHIELD’s private morgue. You thought you’d feel relieved to see them dead but you didn’t. You just felt numb.

Clint kept his hand on your back the entire time, a physical reassurance that stopped you from dwelling too heavily on your thoughts. He tried to joke with you as you walked back to HQ but every light word felt like a noose around your neck, pulling tighter and tighter until you could no longer breathe.

Noticing the stiffness in your walk, Clint switched to business mode and focused on the practical logistics of the debrief. He stayed with you as you described the event to some faceless low level agent and then took you to the canteen to get some coffee. Rather, he grabbed a cup of coffee and sat with you in silence as you stared at the wall.

Eventually, Natasha came down to find you. She didn’t need to say anything for it was all there in her eyes. Relief that you were safe. Sincere apologies for not being able to help you more. Guilt that she’d turned walked ahead and you’d almost died for the mistake. It was intentional, of course. An spy as well trained as Natasha didn’t allow her emotions to leak unless it was for the benefit of someone else. You were grateful that she didn’t try to talk about it as she brought you up to see Fury.

Outside his office, Natasha caught your hand and held you back for a moment. Her thumb gently stroking the inside of your wrist, she opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. Smiling at her own cowardice, she released your hand and opened the door to Fury’s office for you. “Good luck.”

“Were you hurt?” Fury asked, gesturing to the seat opposite him as you entered.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, Sir.”

Fury nodded, not convinced by your answer but accepting it nonetheless. Not beating around the bush, he dove straight into the reason why you had been called to his office. “You’re being pulled from the field.”

You sat up straight in the chair and gripped the handles so tightly that they nearly snapped. “No, Director, please! You can’t do that!”

“I can do whatever the hell I see fit, Agent. You were targeted directly which means they know something. I’m not risking the entire operation because of you.”

“With all due respect, they don’t think I’m connected to SHIELD. As far as they know, I’m a freelancer.”

“That’s beside the point. Mistakes have been made and now the Syndicate suspect that you’re investigating them. Doesn’t matter who you report to.”

“You take me out the field and they’ll know for sure.”

“This discussion is over, Agent. You’ve done a decent job over the past few months but it is time to send in someone else who is better qualified for this kind of work. I’m doing you a courtesy by telling you myself and not passing it down the grapevine. You’ll be reassigned and when a new mission opens up you’ll get first refusal. That’s the best offer you’re gonna get.”

“Director Fury, please. We’re getting close to something and if you take me out of the field now then we’ll lose that lead forever.”

“Y/N has a point,” Clint said, poking his head into the office. Fury narrowed his eye at the interruption - having made clear that this was supposed to be a private meeting - but didn’t stop your partner from entering. He perched himself on the arm of your chair, his hand naturally coming to rest on your thigh. “The Cuttermans aren’t stupid. They aren’t going to believe that she’d just leave.”

“Pains me to say it but Barton’s right,” Natasha said, sliding in to Fury’s office uninvited behind your partner. You couldn’t help but wonder whether they had both just been hovering outside in wait for the perfect moment to step in. You really were surrounded by drama queens of the highest caliber.

Natasha dropped a file on the Director’s desk and found a spot against the wall, resting comfortably with her arms crossed over her chest. “First report on the men who went after Y/N. They don’t match with any known associates of the Syndicate. Only two of them have any kinds of records at all. The others are ghosts.”

“What are you saying, Romanoff?” Fury huffed.

“I’m saying that we ran their faces through every database we have access to, and some we don’t, and they don’t exist. No trace of them on any government server. All the CCTV cameras in the area have been wiped and none of the people in that building can seem to remember a thing about any of them. This is well beyond what a drug cartel should be capable of.”

“So they’ve got friends in high places,” Clint suggested. It was a logical guess to make; the Syndicate had to have people with power in their pockets to have avoided being brought to justice for so long. It made sense that they’d have access to a few hackers worth their salt.

As they discussed the possibilities, your mind doubled back to something else from Natasha’s report. “You said two of them did have records. What did you get from them?”

“They were both held low level positions in the CIA until a few weeks ago.”

“What happened then?”

“They died. Families were notified, they were taken off the payroll and their files were closed. Standard stuff. I read the post mortems. The facial recognition is being double checked but if the IDs were right then obviously something weird is going on here.”

You rubbed your temples, wishing you were back in the bar. A good strong drink really wouldn’t have gone amiss right now. “Is there anything that proves this is in any way related to our investigation of the Syndicate and this wasn’t completely unrelated?”

“Not that I can see,” Natasha said. “But then we’ve only got about half the pieces. We’re checking the other men against closed files but I doubt we’ll find anything. Whoever these guys were, they were well prepared. I’m willing to bet that whatever was left of their old lives has been well and truly obliterated by now.”

“Any ideas, though? Who else is involved in this?”

“Maybe they’re teaming up with other gangs in the area and sharing resources. That guy Y/N used as a cover…”

“David Jenkins,” you said, offering your partner the name he was searching for.

Clint smiled gratefully and squeezed your leg. “Yeah, him. Maybe they were his men trying to find out what the hell is going on and how your name ended up in their systems. If Jenkins is expanding his operations and siding with the Syndicate then we have a far bigger problem than we thought.”

“The big picture is not really your concern, Agents,” Fury said, breaking his silence. He was flicking through the file that Natasha had slammed on his desk with a feigned disinterest. It was an unnecessary facade, though. You all knew that the moment he was alone that he’d pour through the report with a fine comb and absorb every single detail there if it wasn’t all in his brain already. 

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, waiting anxiously for the Director to say something else. There was obviously a lot he wasn’t sharing - you suspected that you already knew more than you should at your clearance level - but there was clearly more to be said. You couldn’t decide whether you were supposed to ask or wait for further clarification so opted for awkward silence instead.

Fury glanced up from the file at the sound of your shuffling and frowned, as if he’d forgotten you were still there. He looked between you and your partner, his expression unreadable. You weren’t the only one trying to guess his mind; both Clint and Natasha were studying the Director (with majorly differing degrees of subtlety) but neither seemed to garner more from his blank stare and hard set jaw than you had.

Clearly sick of you in his personal space, Fury let out an annoyed sigh and said, “Agents, get back to suburbia and keep digging on the Cuttermans. Send your updates on the new channels and try to keep yourself out of trouble, for once. Romanoff, show them out.”

“I thought…”

Fury cut you off with a brisk, “Do you really want me to reconsider? Because I’m quite happy to take you off the case. I’m sure that the guys down in tech support would love a new coffee girl.”

Your reply was instant. “No, Sir.”

“Well then. Get out of my office and go back to your job.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

You shut the door quietly behind you and let out a sigh of relief. Clint threw his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into a hug, keeping his distance in an attempt to maintain some image of boundaries. You were fairly sure that Natasha saw through it but were grateful she kept her thoughts to herself.

Pulling free of the hug, you fell into step with your partner and said, “Fury mentioned new security protocol. What’s that all about?”

“That’s why we were summoned,” Clint explained. His fingers brushed against yours as you walked through the hallways of HQ. It was all you could do not to beam at those light touches, the secret - almost illicit - nature of your relationship somehow making them all the more intense. “The channel isn’t secure anymore. Someone hacked in. I don’t really get the technical stuff but the long and short is that we needed new security codes. Can’t send them out on a compromised system so we had to come get them in person.”

“We’ll detour through security to pick yours up, Y/N, and then I’ll take you out one of the back entrances in case anyone is watching the building. Someone will take you out the city and you can drive on from there,” Natasha said.

“Driving again?” Clint groaned. It was a sentiment you shared. Your relationship couldn’t have been more different than the first time you did this drive but that didn’t mean you were any more keen on spending 20 odd hours roadtripping with him. He would absolutely spend the whole time complaining and, after the events of today, with jet lag setting in too, you knew your patience wouldn’t hold.

Thoughts of killing Clint and burying his body at the roadside playing heavy on your mind, you turned to Natasha and asked, “Is there no way we can take a Quinjet or something instead?”

“I like the way she thinks,” Clint agreed instantly. “Come on, someone has gotta be heading that way. We can hitch a ride with them.”

Natasha shook her head. Sounding scarily like a parent fed up of their children, she looked Clint dead in the eyes and said, “You’re driving. End of.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought.”

An hour later, you had been cleared by security, given new access codes and were on your way out. You’d been hoping to bump into Coulson while you were back here - it had been too long since you’d seen him and wanted to chat - but had no such luck; Natasha promised to pass on a message for you, though.

As ordered, Natasha took you out an exit you hadn’t even known existed and when you finally came back up to ground level you were blocks away from HQ. A taxi cab was waiting for you on the corner and had apparently already picked up your luggage from your hotel.

You were more than a little surprised when Natasha forwent saying goodbye to Clint and instead caught your arm and pulled you aside as your partner climbed into the taxi. She silenced you with a wave of her hand, brushing off your concerns. “I’ve said goodbye to Clint far too many times already. He’s already heard everything I have to say. You on the other hand…”

Prepared for the worst, Natasha went and caught you off guard once again when, instead of jumping down your neck and ordering you not to do anything reckless, closed the gap between you and brushed her lips over yours. Her hand slipped around your neck, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss, soft but somehow fierce.

As quickly as she’d initiated it, Natasha stepped back and smiled. She traced her fingers along your cheek and said, “Be careful, Y/N. Please, look after each other. Lord knows Clint needs someone but I think you do too. I can see you’ve got a lot going on but you need to push it aside and remember the mission. It’s a shame we didn’t have time to grab dinner. Some other time, I suppose.”

With that, she strode off around the corner leaving you more than a little speechless. You slid into the cab and buckled in, staring out into the dark evening for any sign of her shadow. Of course, there was nothing. Natasha was long gone.

Clint didn’t prompt you to fill the silence in the cab, happy to leave you to straighten out your thoughts as he dwelt on his own. Only when your SHIELD appointed driver left you to your own devices - hopping on to a Quinjet to take him back to the city, of all things! - did you finally speak the words: “Nat kissed me.”

“I thought she might.” Clint reached over and rested his hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. A wave of calm flowed over you both at finally being able to casually touch each other again. “How are you feeling?”

“I mean, it was unexpected but she is gorgeous and a fantastic kisser. Not that you aren’t, of course, I just -”

“I didn’t mean about Natasha.” 

“I know.”

“Do you wanna talk about what happened earlier? With those guys?”

You shook your head. There was too much to process and until you’d really had time to go over what had happened you didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to burden Clint, either. So, instead, you closed your eyes and said, “Later. Right now I just want to get moving and away from the city.”

Clint leant over and curled his hand around your neck, pulling you into a soft kiss. It was tender and overflowing with emotions, good and bad. It was a gentle reminder - as if you needed one - of how much he loved and cared for you. He rested his forehead against yours and you stayed that way for a long moment, silent but content and feeling safe in one another’s company.

Finally, he pulled away but a hand remained linked with yours. The other on the wheel, Clint started the car and said, “Get some rest, darling. I’ll find us a motel where we can rest for the night. Or, you know, other things.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Is that a no?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and said, “Drive, Barton.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Ridiculous. You are completely ridiculous, you know?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

You leant over and kiss his cheek. “Yes it is, sweetheart. Probably all of it, if we’re being honest.”


	38. April 3rd

Without so much as a moment to stop and check the street for traffic, Clint bolted across the road towards the park. You raced after him, not quite fast enough to keep up, and cursed his name when he disappeared into a tiny forest. Even though it was the middle of the day, the gorgeous spring sun shining down from above, an uncomfortable chill ran down your spine at being alone among the trees. Breathing heavily, you yelled, “Clint? Where are you?”

“Over here!”

The low hanging branches scratched your skin as you rushed through as if the trees themselves were fighting against you. The canopy above was thicker here, blocking out the sunlight, and the ground underfoot was increasingly uneven. You lost your footing multiple times, landing heavily on your knees and scratching up your palms against a thick tree trunk.

“Y/N? You alright?”

Clint’s voice pulled you back to reality and you stumbled out the other side of the small forest into a little clearing. You looked frantically over your shoulder to check that you hadn’t been followed and frowned at what you saw. There was no thick overgrowth. The sun shone down through the widely spaced trees and you could almost see the road through the over side.

It had all been in your mind.

You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind, you turned to find Clint fawning over a golden labrador. His eyes were bright with excitement, hair light and fluffy in the afternoon sun. Tongue hanging out, he looked two seconds from rolling around in the dirt and having the best day of his life. The dog was cute, too.

Clint looked up and his expression immediately darkened. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you said, a stab of guilt in your gut for ruining his great mood. The last few days hadn’t been easy for either of you and this was probably the first time that Clint had been genuinely free of cares all week - if not longer.

He reached out to take your hand, the knot in your stomach pulling even tighter at the way his face fell when you didn’t take it. Clint continued to shower the dog with affection, his little tail wagging away happily, but you both knew that his attention was entirely focused on you. “Please, honey. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You took a seat on the ground and ripped a handful of grass from the ground. Splitting the blades with your nail, you grumbled, “I panicked, okay? It’s stupid. I couldn’t see you and I thought that someone might try to grab me because I was alone.”

Clint didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around you and held you, his new canine friend saddling up beside you and nuzzling his head against your side as well. You ran your fingers over his soft fur and scratched behind his ears. The labrador sighed contently, his allegiances clearly shifting.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just saw the dog and had to pet it. You know how it is. It’s like a compulsion. See dog, pet dog. Lucky was just like this guy, although I don’t think this beautiful boy would eat pizza from the floor. He’s a purebred, don’t you think? They’re better behaved. He obviously has good taste too because he just loves you. We should get a dog. Or not. Maybe not. Bad idea. But you have to admit he is adorable.”

He was rambling because he didn’t know what to say to make you feel better. Normally, you would have told him to shut up but right now the constant flow of words was calming your mind. The labrador remained curled up by your feet until he was eventually called back by his owner - he went reluctantly, not wanting to leave his new friends.

Not long after, the afternoon sun becoming uncomfortably warm, you and Clint left the little clearing and started back towards your house. Clint clung firmly to your hand, a constant reminder that he was there and would keep you safe from anything and everything. It was peaceful and calm and everything you weren’t feeling but you were grateful for the attempt at normality.

Life had an annoying way of just carrying on after something awful happened. Routines didn’t change - you still ate, worked and slept with little differentiation - and it was expected that you could just move past the bad things and keep going. The rest of the world was still turning and you had to keep up or risk slipping even further out of phase with life.

Even Clint in his infinite caring had been trying to push you back into work. It was only ever simple things, scouring files for information or filling in the daily reports, but you never got anything done. How could you when it was all just another mundane reminder of how close your life with Clint had come to an end?

So this, a silent walk without hope or expectation of healing or moving on, was exactly what you needed.

At least it was until Claudia showed up.

You’d been less than 100 m from your front door when she’d appeared out of nowhere, full of more energy than one of the caffeine drinks that Clint hid under the bed and downed when he thought you weren’t looking.

Claudia pulled you both into a tight hug and kissed your cheeks. “My darlings! How are you?”

“We’re fine,” you said, not bothering to be subtle as you rummaged through your bag to find your key. “Just a little tired.”

“I know the feeling, dear. I only slept nine hours last night. It’s absolutely dreadful.”

“What can we do for you, Claudia?” Clint asked, cutting her off before she had the opportunity to talk about her sleep therapist or whatever crazy remedy had been recommended to help with tiredness. While Clint actually loved listening to her inane, and often insane, stories, he knew that you really didn’t have the patience to deal with her today.

Thankfully she didn’t take any offence at his brisk question. She just shrugged and said, “Oh, nothing. I just wanted to check that you were alright. Y/N, you didn’t come to drinks last night and I was worried that something terrible had happened.”

A little more sharply than you might have intended, you asked, “Should it have?”

“Of course not!” she said, shifting awkwardly on her feet. “I just… Well, I overheard Aaron on the phone and he - at least, that’s what I thought I heard - he was talking to someone about a shooting in town. I just wanted to check that you were alright since we’d not heard from you.”

“No bullet holes today,” you murmured.

“Well I am relieved indeed to hear that. How was New York? Did you get to go see that show in the end?”

Clint took one look at the blank expression on your face and decided to wrap up the conversation before Claudia could say anything else to fuel your darker thoughts. You went inside when he pulled her aside and dropped you bag in the hallway, automatically heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea you would end up not drinking.

However you barely made it five steps before Clint grabbed you by the arm and pulled you upstairs and into your private little gym. It had taken weeks of begging and pleading to get Alice to sign off on it but in the end you’d managed to convince her on the grounds that it was a necessity for agents to be able to train and Clint would have been unable to do that in a normal gym without arousing suspicion from his insane strength and athleticism.

“Hit me,” Clint said. He slipped past you and took his starting position on to the mat in the centre of the room. When you didn’t respond, he repeated himself more firmly. “Come on, Y/N. Hit me.”

“I’m not in the mood for this.”

“I don’t care.” Despite his harsh tone, it was obvious that Clint did, in fact, care very much. He wanted to help you through this in whatever was he could. Even if it meant being a dick. “I will make it a direct order if I have to.”

“Go on, then. I still won’t hit you.”

Clint recognised a losing battle when he saw one but he was a stubborn man by nature and this was one such time where he refused to give in so easily. Too fast for you to evade his grip, Clint caught you arm and tugged your onto the map. He didn’t hesitate and landed three consecutive hits before you finally managed to block one.

You half heartedly knocked him backwards, still not a willing participant in this exercise. It was stupid and wouldn’t prove anything. You didn’t see the point in wasting your time when you could be doing something more productive like sitting in the dark or staring at the ceiling.

Not holding back, Clint retaliated with a real shove that sent you flying back into the wall. You groaned as you hit the solid surface but it didn’t stop Clint. He was in front of you instantly, pinning you to the wall. He held your wrists tightly above your head with one hand and had his other arm pressed into your chest.

As sturdy a hold as it was, Clint had clearly taken care not to hurt you in any way. The pressure on your chest was more than enough to pin you in place but didn’t restrict your breathing in any way. The fingers around your wrists dug into your skin but wouldn’t leave any bruises. He pressed your body into the wall with his own, the both of you breathing a little heavier than you should have been after such little physical exertion.

His lips ghosted your neck as he spoke, voice low as he murmured in your ear. “All those terrible things you’re feeling… Take them and turn it into something better and get it out of your system before they eat you alive.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered.

“Trust me, you won’t.”

It had been a long time since you’d properly trained but Clint didn’t take it easy on you at all. He blocked all of your attacks and matched them each with one of his own. Every time you thought you’d taken the upper hand, he would prove you wrong. People often forget how dangerous Clint Barton was - yourself included - but this reminded you how easily he could have held his own against any one of the other Avengers and why he’d been selected as part of the team in the first place.

You fought with a raging haze tinting your vision. You didn’t see Clint, you saw the faces of the men who had tried to grab you - kill you - back in New York. Your blood pounded in your ears, driving you to irrational attacks, fueling you with a raw power that you had never felt before. Ill thought out tactics had you on the floor or against the wall time after time.

Over and over Clint bested you until any sane person would have thrown in the towel. But you didn’t, the fear and anger that burned through your veins never fading. You kept pushing yourself, physically and mentally, for over an hour until you could no longer lift your arms. Your clothes were drenched with sweat and your skin bruised and yet you weren’t ready to stop.

You hit the mat with a loud thud, your final attempt at an attack going wide by a mile. Clint straddled you, barely showing any signs of your sparring match. His forehead glistened in a slight sweat but other than that you’d never have known that he’d spent the past hour fighting. “We’re done for today.”

“No! I’m fine, I can -”

“I said we’re done, Y/N. You’re exhausted. If I let you keep fighting me then you’ll end up getting hurt. No. Don’t argue. You’re tired and can barely hold yourself up. Now, we’re going to get something to eat and then I’m going to run you a nice, hot bath.”

You opened your mouth to argue but Clint silenced you with a kiss, soft and gentle. All the negative feelings faded away, replaced by something far warmer and ultimately far more terrifying.

Clint pulled you to your feet and circled an arm around your waist to stop you from toppling over. He dotted kisses along your jaw, holding you as close as he could. “Please, sugar. Let me take care of you. I need to. I’ve just spent the afternoon beating the woman I love to a pulp. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t spend just as long making it up to her? Just wanna make you feel good, Y/N.”

Burying your head in his shoulder, you said, “I don’t deserve you.”

“It’s true. I am amazing.”

You were too exhausted to argue and, really, it was true. Clint was amazing and you didn’t know what you’d do without him.


	39. April 10th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally this chapter has no plot. If you are uncomfortable with sexy times just skip over it.

You grabbed Clint by the arm and pushed him against the wall, kissing him hard. Something clattered as it hit the ground but you didn’t care enough to look. Whatever it was could be replaced. You slipped your hands under his t-shirt and splayed your fingers on his chest, nothing but solid muscle beneath them. Clint shuddered slightly as you drew your nails over his skin, a desperate moan escaping his lips.

Tugging at the hem of his shirt, you guided him up the stairs, only breaking the kiss to murmur, “Bedroom. _Now._ ”

His shirt was flung over the banister, forgotten as you both fumbled with his belt. His trousers were the next to go. As he stepped free, Clint tumbled over and pulled you down with him until you were a laughing heap on the ground. He kissed the bump on your shoulder and lifted you up as if you weighed nothing, all but throwing you onto the bed. The simple show of strength made you feel quite flushed. The mattress bounced beneath you, a sharp crack sounding somewhere from under you but thankfully the frame remained in one piece.

Clint pulled you back into a passionate kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. In a tangle of limbs, your t-shirt was pulled over your head and your jeans tossed aside. Clint tugged you into his lap by the lacy band of your underwear and squeezed your breasts through your bra, sucking your nipples through the thin fabric.

“So gorgeous,” Clint muttered, pressing his lips against yours, his hand snaking down between your legs. You were already wet as he slowly rubbed your clit through the fabric. It was absolute torture; the heat in your core was building but every time you came close Clint let your release fall away.

Over and over he teased until he suddenly pushed the lace aside and slipped a finger into your pussy. By now your clit was overly sensitive and every brush sent a sharp wave up your spine. Clint pushed another finger inside you, the slight burning stretch feeling so good. He curled his fingers against your g-spot, working you up so quickly that you thought you might cry.

“So beautiful when you’re about to come. Go on, sugar, wanna hear you scream,” he whispered, his teeth tugging at your earlobe. Clint’s voice was like pure sin and pushed you over the edge into a blinding orgasm that wracked your body, wave after wave of absolute bliss flooding your system. You threw your head backwards, riding his fingers until the stars finally faded from your vision.

You kissed Clint, long and slow, before shifting your attention elsewhere. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and slowly started sucking. Clint was writhing beneath you, the warmth of your mouth on him everything he needed and more. His little moans were desperate and needy, the breath catching in his throat every time you swirled your tongue over his tip.

Taking him deeper until his cock was pressing against the back of your throat, you held still for a moment to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. Your jaw ached and your eyes were watering but it was worth it for the way Clint’s head fell backwards, his lips slightly parted as a pleasurable haze began to cloud his senses. “Fuck, darling, you feel so good.”

Clint laced his fingers through your hair, gently encouraging you to move by tugging on the strands. You hollowed your cheeks around his length and lightly scraped your teeth over the sensitive skin as you pulled back. The message came through loud and clear: you were in charge here, not him. His grip in your hair loosened instantly.

You ignored the beep of Clint’s phone on the bedside table, assuming he would too, but when you looked up you saw him checking the screen. You sat up and cocked your head to the side in intrigue. What could be so important that he had to respond now of all times?

“Either the world is under attack or you’re about to make a sex video because if it is anything else this is not the part of your body you want me to be angry near. So,” you said sweetly, giving his dick a light squeeze. “What’s on the phone, honey?”

It took Clint an embarrassingly long time to realise you’d asked him a question. Maintaining eye contact, too long and intense not to be suspicious, he locked his phone and set it aside. “Nothing…”

“You can tell me or I can look myself.”

“I’m gonna pay for this either way, aren’t I?”

“Extensively.”

Clint sighed and handed you the phone, prepared for your outburst. You unlocked the screen and stared at it for almost a minute without saying a word. He checked his phone, during sex, because he’d gotten a notification for a silly game. You couldn’t decide whether you were offended that a free spin on prize wheel was worth his attention more than your mouth around his cock or not.

When you finally looked up, Clint had his arm draped over his eyes, hiding the shame. “I’m addicted. I’ve got a problem. I’m sorry.”

“So you should be,” you said, grinning at his utter ridiculousness. You couldn’t be angry with him, you didn’t even want to be, not when he was so obviously drowning in embarrassment. But there was more eating him up than that and it took you a second to realise exactly what. Clint was absolutely terrified he’d gone and fucked this up and your humour at the situation softened to something else.

You crawled up the bed and took his face in your hands, gently kissing every inch of skin. His eyelids fluttered beneath your lips, his nose twitched adorably (though he’d later deny that). He chased your mouth desperately, scared that you might hate him. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not angry, Clint,” you muttered, tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb as you slowly quelled his fear. “I think you’re utterly mad to choose a game over sex but I’m not angry. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna make you regret choosing that over me, though.”

Your initial plan had been to just leave Clint without an orgasm and stretch out no sex for a week but with every moment it became increasingly clear that he was being eaten up inside by all manner of terrible things and a punishment like that would only make it worse. So, you were going with Plan B which was actually far more enjoyable for you both.

Brushing your lips over his, you said, “Don’t move, my love. I’ll be right back, I’m just going to grab some things. Okay? I’ll be two minutes. But if you so much look at your phone in that time…”

Clint slipped his hand behind your neck, deepening the kiss. He was struggling to find the words but this way it was perfectly clear what he was trying to say. You lightly against pushed his chest and broke away. “Two minutes.”

As promised, you returned once you’d found your supplies. You hovered at the doorway, almost speechless at how Clint looked, lying butt naked, eyes closed on your bed. It wasn’t just a physical thing, although you certainly had no complaints there. There was something indescribable at the sense of peace on his face, even as his body was stiff with the anticipation of your coming touch. The trust he felt for you was practically tangible and it made your heart tighten in your chest.

A quick glance confirmed that Clint had indeed not touched his phone - it was exactly where you’d left it - just as you’d ordered. However, you did note that, at his side, his fingers were twitching so he must have been thinking about breaking your command.

Clint tensed as the mattress dipped under your weight so you leant down and kissed him gently. He turned into you, his muscles easing with every delicate touch. He draped his arm around your neck and chased your lips when you pulled back. Opening his eyes, Clint’s gaze fell on what you’d brought to play with - silk rope. His hand twitched, reaching out to touch the soft strips of fabric before deciding against it.

You weren’t quite sure how to take his hesitancy so asked outright if he was alright with you tying him up. You’d talked about it before but his sort of thing required unbelievable amounts of trust and you couldn’t jump in if he was in the wrong state of mind, even if it was something you both wanted to try.

Taking one of the silky purple strips, you wrapped it loosely around his wrists, once, twice, three times, and then your own to join you together. It was so loose that the moment you moved the fabric fell from away and you couldn’t stop fidling with it as you waited for his answer. “Talk to me, Clint. Is this okay? I know we said before… It’s alright if you -”

“Yes,” he breathed, stretching out his pinky to tentatively touch the soft rope. He twisted the fabric around his finger and swallowed deeply, looking up from the deep purple band around his skin to meet your eyes. “Yes, this is definitely okay.”

“If you need to stop at any time, I will. You just say the word.”

Clint cupped your cheek and pulled you down for a kiss, softer than any you’d shared this evening. He clung to you, fingers laced in your hair, legs tangling together as you rolled him on to his back and straddled his waist. His mouth fell open to speak but he couldn’t find the strength to say what was troubling his mind.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clint. I’ve got you,” you whispered understandingly. “What’s your word, love?”

“You know what it is,” he said, almost pouting. “Don’t make me say it.”

“If you won’t say it before I start to play,” you said, loving the way Clint’s cheeks went pink at the implication of being your toy. You trailed your fingers over his chest, a gasp escaping his mouth when you tweaked his nipple. You kept your gaze soft even though you were searching his face for any sign of doubt or reluctance, for the briefest tell that he wasn’t ready to do this. “How can I trust you to say it when it really matters?”

Clint let out a sigh, his head hitting the pillow hard. Staring up at the ceiling, he muttered, “Legolas.”

It wasn’t exactly the sexiest thing to do but you couldn’t stop from giggling at the choice. It had been an obvious decision given his skills and there was certainly nothing more likely to shock you out of a moment than Clint calling out for an elven prince.

Satisfied, you reached down and grabbed his wrists, rolling your hips against his as you moved. Clint moaned softly as you danced the silk strips across his skin, criss-crossing it around his arms. Slowly taking your time, you worked up to his wrists, savouring every shiver that ran down Clint’s spine as you touch him, feather light.

You then carefully tied him to the headboard and ordered that he tug on the bonds to check that they were a) secure enough to keep him in place but also b) not so tight that it’d cut off circulation.

Placing kisses back down his arms, stopping to admire the tight pull of the silk when he tensed his muscles, you asked, “How does that feel, sweetheart?”

“Feels fine,” Clint immediately replied.

You kissed a trail down his stomach and up the inside of his thighs. A hand on his stomach, gently keeping him still, the other traced patterns over his legs, following the sharp v-line of his muscles and defined abs as you kissed his body. “Just relax for me, Clint. I’m right here.”

You licked the tip of his cock and his breath hitched, the quiet sound music to your ears. “Yes, Clint,” you hummed, lips brushing over his sensitive skin as you spoke. “Make as much noise as you want, my darling. Wanna hear you beg tonight.”

“Fuck, Y/N, feels… Feels amazing. Don’t stop, _please don’t stop…_ ”

Another light lick along his length and already Clint was pleading for you to cease in your teasing but you’d barely begun. You took the head of his dick in your mouth and hollowed your cheeks around him, his entire body jolting as you squeezed his balls.

“You know the rules, my love,” you said, his cock twitching as you licked the precum from the tip. You weren’t even touching him now but Clint was breathing heavily, not even bothering to hide how you drove him crazy. He was getting close and you’d hardly even started. “You don’t get to cum until I say. If you do -”

“I won’t,” he promised, straining against the silk rope as you teased him further.

“You are so good for me, sweetheart. Love you so much, Clint.” You had every intention of making him work for his release, seeing how long he could handle the pleasure you were planning to give until his control finally gave out. Or maybe you’d let him have this one and then see just how many orgasms you could pull from his beautiful body. Either way, this was just the start of what was going to be a wonderful night.


	40. April 17th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late, I've been sick and didn't get around to posting it yesterday. I hope you enjoy the fluff :)

Your eyelids drooped, the soft hum of the computer lulling you to sleep. You’d been in the basement for over twelve hours sorting through information and files on Elsie’s USB. Words had lost all rational meaning and mission reports were blurring together in the most peculiar ways (even in this sleepy state, you were fairly certain that the Hulk had never gone undercover as a burlesque dancer).

The last thing you wanted to do was fall asleep down here - you had before and it had taken over a week to work the crick from your neck - so you forced yourself out of the chair and on to your feet. You gripped the desk hard to steady yourself and waited for the room to stop swaying before moving again.

With blurry eyes, you began to shut down the search programme for the night when a loud beep jolted you from your daze. You wiped your eyes to double check, then triple check, that what you were seeing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. But there it was, in black and white, real as anything. Finally, amid petabytes of data, was a familiar name.

Clint tumbled down the stairs in such a panicked state to check that you were okay that he didn’t even blink at cutting his forehead as he fell. He pushed himself up from the floor, wiped away the imaginary dirt and dust along with his dignity, then rushed to your side. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

“Fine? I’m great, I… Oh, Clint, your head!” You pushed him into the chair and grabbed the first aid kit from the cupboard. Perched on the edge of the desk, you stood between his legs and wiped the blood away. Clint yelped like a baby when you dabbed disinfectant on it so you rewarded him for his ‘bravery’ with a kiss before applying a gauze over the wound. “Don’t touch it, alright? Just leave it.”

He mumbled something which sounded an awful lot like, “Yes, mum,” in response but did as you asked. He even went so far as to sit on his hands so that he wouldn’t be tempted to play with the bandage.

Convinced that he hadn’t given himself (another) concussion, you packed away the first aid kit then took a seat in his lap, making yourself comfortable against his chest. Clint’s arms automatically snaked around your waist, pulling you tighter. He pressed a gentle kiss just beneath your ear, his stubble scratching the sensitive skin. “So… You gonna tell me why you’re so great?”

“I found something. Or rather my search algorithm did.”

“Wait, seriously?” Clint asked, eyes wide as he pulled back. “What was it?”

You repositioned yourself in his lap, momentarily distracted by Clint’s breath hitching in his throat. You leaned back and kissed him gently, apologetically almost, on the lips. “Later,” you muttered. Turning your attention towards the largest of the computer screens, you brought up the single file you’d found and tapped the name. “Doctor Jones.”

Clint rested his chin on your shoulder, his fingers drawing random patterns on your skin as he read the file on the screen. His frown was reflected in the display, his unusually serious expression turning your excitement at the find to nerves. “As in the Doctor Jones you’ve been trying to trace for months?”

“I think so! He isn’t a registered medical practitioner like I thought but he is a psychologist. Or was.” You tapped an adjacent screen and sent the related file on to the main viewer. “Says here that he had a very promising career. Top grades at school. Stellar references. But then one day he just disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

“Why do the CIA have a file on him?”

“Technically they don’t. They have him on file as a person of interest and this is all the information they have about him. As far as they’re aware, he’s a ghost.”

“We seem to be coming up against a lot of those lately,” Clint said. Sensing your confusion, he elaborated, “Well, the guys who came after you were ghosts too. Gives me a right chill thinking about it.”

“You know that we aren’t talking about real ghosts, right? Just because their files say they died doesn’t mean they actually did.”

Clint merely shrugged, neither confirming nor denying whether he believed you were dealing with supernatural entities. In a way, you almost hoped you were. At least then the absolute nonsensical nature of this investigation might be explainable. As it was, you, Clint and the rest of SHIELD were running around chasing loose ends that would almost certainly prove to be unrelated and a waste of time and effort.

A sense of defeatism radiated from your partner so you swivelled to face Clint again and raked your fingers through his hair. His eyes flickered shut as he relaxed, the stresses of the investigation slowly fading from his mind. You kissed him slowly, teasing him until he slipped his hand behind your neck and deepened the kiss.

You rolled your hips against his and savoured the low moan that you pulled from his lips. He ran his hands all over your body, desperate to feel touch, to worship, your beautiful body. Clint cupped your breasts and squeezed your ass and his hands found home on your thighs, caressing the sensitive skin between your legs until the ache was all but unbearable.

A sudden crack shocked you both from the moment and before you realised what was happened the chair collapsed beneath you. Silence hung heavy for a long second, neither one of you sure how to respond. The shock gave way to a stifled giggle which then almost instantly descended into uncontrollable laughter.

Rolling off the broken remains of the chair, you made yourself comfortable on the floor content to just lay in each other’s arms for now. Staring up at the ceiling, thoughts drifting back to the case, you said, “This is good news, Clint. I know it doesn’t feel like it but this is a breakthrough.”

“Remind me how, exactly? All we’ve got is a name which we already had before.”

“But it’s a name on paper! It proves he is a real man and not some twisted figment of Claudia’s imagination. That means somewhere he’ll be on record for something. I know it’s not a lot to go on but it is more than we had. I know he’s a psychologist now, so can redouble my efforts and design a better search algorithm.”

Clint sighed, still not entirely convinced but unable to bring himself to argue further. He didn’t want to dim your renewed confidence after the tough few weeks before. “Guess you should send Elsie a thank you present, then. You could invite her over for dinner?”

You shook your head, fighting the bubble of sadness in your chest. “Can’t. She’s an active agent with a case of her own. We can’t risk blowing her cover.”

“We could always go and visit her at that -”

“I swear,” you interrupted. “If you finish your sentence with ‘sex club’…”

“I was actually going to say sex dungeon. There’s a difference.”

“There is?”

“Well sure.”

You didn’t know why you were surprised to learn that Clint knew about such things. And while the idea of taking him to a sex club - or dungeon - was not unappealing, you still couldn’t reconcile seeing your friend of decades in such a place. A simple anonymous thank you message would have to be enough, even though you wished you could deliver your gratitude in person.

“It’s late,” Clint said, pulling you up to your feet with ease. “We should go to bed.”

“I’m not tired, though.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Did I say anything about sleeping?”


	41. April 24th

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Of course it is,” Clint said, his hand a comforting weight on the small of your back. “Stop worrying. You said yourself that there is no info on Jones in any of the normal places so we’ve got to go old school. This is the last place he’s recorded as working. It’s worth the risk.”

You understood the logic but that didn’t mean you had any confidence in the plan. After all, the last few times you’d tried to get your hands on paper files - at the police station and in Aaron’s private study - it hadn’t exactly ended well for you. If past experience was anything to go by, then this was bound to fail spectacularly.

It seemed your fears were rooted in reality as you scanned the office for potential problems. The major problem was that there were substantially more security cameras than you’d anticipated. Practically every inch of the office - the hallways, the waiting room and even the toilet doors - was caught by at least one camera. The main office, where the old files and secure server were homed, seemed to be watched from multiple angles.

“How can I help you today?” the receptionist asked, a surprisingly genuine smile on her face as she waved you forward. It wasn’t often that someone working a desk job that actually enjoyed themselves and your only guess was that the pay must outweigh the hardships of dealing with the public.

“We’re here for an appointment. Francis Morse,” you said. You spoke quickly in an attempt to make Clint’s alias sound as natural as possible but it still felt weird to say. “We were recommended your practise by a friend, actually. They said Dr Jones just changed their life.”

The receptionist tilted her head to the side and you realised with a start that you had probably misjudged her. She may have appeared a little aloof but she was studying you intently, searching your expression and demeanour for any signs that you might be trouble. Her smile a little less wide than before, she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know any Dr Jones here.”

“He’s probably before your time,” Clint said, jumping in to save the situation. You didn’t want to assume that the receptionist was part of any great plot but it was getting harder not to see conspiracies everywhere you turned.

Flashing her a huge smile, Clint rested his elbows on the edge of her desk and her gaze was immediately drawn to his incredibly impressive muscles. While you couldn’t blame her for staring, you still found yourself possessively draping your arm over Clint’s shoulders, staking a claim on your man. It was an action she didn’t miss and her gaze quickly returned to his face.

“Anyway, we called a few days ago and today’s my first session. It’s been a tough few months - years, really - and I decided that it’s time that I got some help with my issues. I’ve been avoiding talking about them for a long time but I think I’m finally ready to start,” Clint said, rambling on without a care.

You had discussed with Clint that maybe it should be you to get a few sessions of therapy after what went down in New York but you weren’t ready to talk to a stranger about that yet. So instead your partner had agreed to take the proverbial bullet and finally accept SHIELD’s verdict of him needing help. However, that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

It was quite the opposite.

If you didn’t know him so well, you might have missed his fingers trembling or the slight crack in his voice. It was obvious he was in pain and you couldn’t help but think that, whether this panned out with information for the mission or not, maybe this would be good for Clint.

Sensing the same thing, the receptionist smiled and said cheerily, “I’m happy to hear that you’re serious about getting help. There’s a couple forms you need to fill out first and then you can head on in. Your partner is welcome to wait while you’re in there or there’s a Starbucks five minutes around the corner.”

She disappeared into the the main office and returned a few moments later with a handful of sheets. You smiled vacantly as she reassured you that any information you gave the practise would remain private and be stored securely. It wasn’t exactly a worry since Clint was using an alias; you were more worried about how a “secure” system would be harder to gain access to.

“What do you think?” Clint asked quietly.

“We’ve been caught on at least twenty different cameras so far. The door to the main office has a passcode and, from what I saw, the filing cabinets are all locked too. I guess the computer data is all encrypted too.”

Clint tapped his pen on the edge of the folder, erratic and devoid of any discernible rhythm. “How much time would you need?”

You pulled the pen from his grip and poked him in the shoulder with it. “Stop it. That’s annoying.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, distracting you with a kiss so that he could pluck it back out of your hand.

You rolled your eyes at his dirty tactics, not that you were really complaining, and squeaked when he drew a tiny penis on the back of your hand. Rubbing viciously at the ink, you asked, “What was that for?”

“You didn’t answer my question. You told me I was annoying.”

“That’s because you are.” You threaded your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as you kissed his cheek. His shoulder was really comfy to lean on and, while you wouldn’t admit to reading and double checking everything he was writing, it also gave you a perfect view of the forms in his lap too. “I reckon only ten minutes for the computer. The physical files will take a lot longer, obviously, since I don’t really know what we’re looking for.”

Clint nodded. “And the CCTV?”

“Won’t be a problem. I’ve got the name of the company that fitted the security so I’ll just find their plans and work out how to disable it. Now I’ve seen what we’re up against, I have a little more faith this’ll be fine.”

“See? I told you it’ll all be good.” He scribbled an illegible signature at the bottom of the forms with a proud flourish, as if he were signing off your fate. You didn’t have quite as much faith as Clint - past experience said there was still every chance that something would go wrong - but you couldn’t deny the optimism in your chest. “Two weeks time and we might finally have our breakthrough file.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He handed the finished paperwork back to the receptionist and she directed him down a corridor to his therapist’s office. Clint gave you a little wave as he rounded the corner, clearly nervous. You blew him a kiss and quickly signed, You’ll be fine. I love you.

I love you, too.

You felt a little uncomfortable just sat in the waiting room alone so decided to visit Starbucks while Clint was in his appointment. The moment you stepped into the store, the thick scent of coffee hit you hard. Unlike Clint, who needed caffeine to be injected directly into his bloodstream to feel any of its effects, the smell was almost enough to satisfy your craving on its own.

You gave your order, treating yourself to a small cake as well, and found a table in a quiet corner of the store. Mindlessly scrolling through the news, you were surprised to see Aaron’s name in one of the articles. It was only a minor business newspaper, certainly not national news, but you had algorithms running to pull his name from any and every source so that you didn’t miss a thing.

The excitement in your chest gave way to disappointment. The announcement was nothing interesting. Just something about a small, local company, specialising in spare parts for planes or something similar, that he’d “destroyed” (obviously whoever had written the article didn’t feel kindly towards Aaron, a sentiment you certainly shared).

Except… You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more important than you realised.

A quick search on the company revealed that they’d been vying for a contract with the US Military to provide the small parts for a new spread of guided artillery. They’d put all their resources into getting the contract only for someone else to be chosen. Facing bankruptcy, they’d asked for help. That was when Aaron had swooped in and broken the company into multiple smaller parts to sell on to new buyers.

Everything about this made you uncomfortable, even though you couldn’t pinpoint why exactly.

You’d have to do some more digging and find out who the new buyers were and what they planned to do with a group on engineers with military grade parts for weapons. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d find something that linked this to the Syndicate - although the thought of them getting their hands on this kind of tech wasn’t something that filled you with joy.

Clint rang not long after to let you know that he’d finished the session. He didn’t say much else - which either meant it had gone awfully or fantastically, no inbetween - so you grabbed him the strongest coffee you could just in case. It could serve as a pick me up or a celebration for a successful appointment.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you caught sight of your partner waiting by the car. His expression was light and he seemed content. Clint wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the tip of your nose, pulling you between his legs. So quick to hug you, he missed the coffee in your hand entirely and only realised it was there when he felt the warmth of the cup against his chest.

“Is that for me?” he asked, showing great restraint in not snatching it straight away.

“Well, it says sexy dumbass on there so I suppose it must mean you.” You pressed your lips against his, moaning softly as he threaded his fingers through your hair. Clint playfully caught your bottom lip in his teeth, soothing the sharp bite with a softer kiss.

A less than subtle cough from a prudish passerby had you, regretfully, pulling away from Clint. You handed him the coffee and climbed into the car. You waited as long as you physically could before asking the question on the forefront of your mind. “So… How was it?”

“Surprisingly alright. I made an appointment to go back next week.”

“You did? Oh, Clint, I’m so proud of you.”

Clint turned to stare out the window, hoping to hide the burning blush on his cheeks. “It’s nothing. Do you, maybe, wanna go catch a film or something? It’s cool if you don’t but I just want to do something normal.”

You answered instantly, almost saddened by his surprise. There was no world where you didn’t want to spend time with him; you thought you’d made that quite clear. If Clint was feeling fragile or uncertain after his therapy session, you resolved to show him exactly how you wanted to be with him and remind him that he was incredibly important to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seeing Endgame tonight... Wish me luck...


	42. May 1st

The little red dot below the camera flashed once, twice, three times and then went dark. You carefully nudged the building’s back door with your foot and breathed a sigh of relief when no alarm started blazing. A quick check on your phone, linked to your main computer at home, confirmed that no alert had been sent to the security company (which was frankly abysmal; it had taken you less than a day to hack their own systems and find out everything you needed to know for this job).

“We’re good,” you told Clint, starting the timer on your watch and then following your partner in to the foyer lift.

“Stop fidgeting,” he said, watching you tug on your jacket sleeves in the elevator mirror. This wasn’t exactly a covert operation so you were in your usual clothes rather than SHIELD suits but you felt just as uncomfortable. Clint saw this and squeezed your hand comfortingly. “You’ve got this.”

“Let’s hope so.”

The therapists’ reception was creepy in the dark. You felt like the paintings on the wall were watching you even though they were nothing more than generic modern art, abstract swirls of colour on a blank canvas no doubt symbolising the inner turmoil of patients passing through. Paranoia was a classic symptom of being somewhere you weren’t meant to be but psychoanalysing yourself didn’t make the uncomfortable feelings any easier to deal with.

You pulled a pin from your hair and crouched down in front of the office door. It was a simple lock, as you would expect in an office with nothing to hide, but you still had to be careful. If you broke the lock, not only would you lose the chance to get this information but - assuming there was something that linked Jones to this practice - it may get somehow get back to him that people were snooping around. The last thing you wanted was to alert him to the fact you were investigating him.

Torch balanced precariously between your teeth, you wiggled the metal pin in the lock to determine which way the lock opened and then slipped it into place. From your own keys, you twisted one of the keyrings to release a rake-tool which was hidden inside and inserted it into the keyhole, testing the stiffness of the springs.

“Do you always carry lock picking tools with you or is it only special occasions?” Clint asked, hovering behind you. His breath was warm on the back of your neck. His elbow brushed against yours. His chin was almost at rest on your shoulder, his lips ghosting your skin. It was all together rather distracting, if you were being honest.

“Busy,” you replied, the word muffled by the torch in your mouth.

Clint reached around and grabbed the torch, shining it down on the lock from a far better angle. You stretched out your jaw, the ache subsiding quickly. You mumbled a quiet thank you, already refocused on the task at hand.

Unfortunately, Clint seemed to have forgotten the need for silence and was now babbling on about something. You tuned in long enough to hear him mention a man called Trip who had also shared your fondness for old fashioned spy gear before interrupting. “Honey, I’m trying to listen for the pins. I love you but please do shut up.”

He pressed a kiss to the base of your neck then took a few steps back to give you the space to work. Without Clint distracting you, you managed to find the sweet spot in less than half a minute and the door swung open.

You checked your watch and nodded to your partner, sliding the hair clip back into place. “We’ve got twelve minutes before the cycle ends and security cameras come back online so you take the filing cabinets and I’ll get started on the computer.”

Each focused on your respective tasks, the time passed far too quickly. By the time your five minute warning came, you’d managed to get into the system but were still waiting for your code to completely transfer over. Once it was in place, you would be able to access the computer data remotely and sort through it at your own pace.

Across the office, Clint wasn’t having so much. He had made a pile of files of possible interest but there was nothing specifically relating to Jones or Claudia that he could see. They were mostly employment records and notes from as far back as the practice kept; hopefully folders that no-one would notice missing but that were unlikely to provide any real information.

“Are you nearly done, sugar?” Clint asked, packing the thin folders into his bag.

“Two more minutes,” you said, irritation seeping into your voice. The practice’s computer wasn’t neither old nor slow but compared to the top of the range processors that you were used to working with it was like dealing with stone age technology. Coupled with the fact that you were having to use a secondary programme to mask every keystroke and system request, the entire process had taken far longer than you’d anticipated - or allowed for in your timings.

Already zipping up his bag, Clint looked over and said, “We don’t really have two minutes, Y/N.”

“I know that but it’s as fast as this damn piece of shit can go.”

“It’s fine,” he assured you. It was a lie, and you both knew it, but when the choice was between accepting a lie or panicking and potentially getting arrested one option was infinitely more preferable. “Just be ready to leave as soon as it’s finished.”

Three minutes later, your code had finally finished uploading. You didn’t wait for the computer to finish its shut down. There wasn’t time. You pulled the door shut as exited the office, cursing under your breath.

Clint frowned and looked over his shoulder in confusion but didn’t stop as he headed for the door. “What is it?”

“The door. It didn’t click shut. It’s not locked.”

“Forget about it. We have to get out of here before the security system comes back online,” Clint said, running his hand through his hair. He checked his watch then grabbed your hand, tugging you down the hallway. “One minute.”

The lift ride down was agonisingly slow and you half expected it to break down, given your past ‘successes’ on this mission. You held your breath the entire way back to the ground floor, even when the floor began to move beneath your feet and stars overtook your vision, and let out a sigh of relief when the doors opened into the main office foyer.

Clint grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the back exit without so much as a moment’s pause. Less than five seconds after you stepped out the building, you caught sight of the little red dot beneath the CCTV cameras, proving that they were on once again. You’d made it but only just.

You didn’t stop walking until you were ten whole blocks away when you finally came to rest at a bus stop which had definitely seen better days. The street lights flickered, casting an orange glow on the street which may have been eerie if the night wasn’t so warm and you hadn’t had Clint’s solid form by your side.

“I think that went well,” Clint said, breaking the silence.

“Really?”

He nodded, genuinely serious. “Sure. Look around. No cops. No secret agents shooting at us. We got some files, your code is in the system and, most importantly, you didn’t get hurt. So all in all I’d call that a fairly major success.”

“We don’t even know if we’ll find anything in the files. And what if someone realises that we were there because of the door? And -”

Clint cut you off with a kiss, his hand snaking around your neck and pulling you as close as he could. He kissed you breathless, tugging and sucking on your bottom lip, drawing all of your fears and concerns and doubts from your mind with his hot mouth on yours.

You got lost in Clint, in the taste of his soft lips, the warmth of his hand on your back. The gentle pressure of his fingertips digging into your skin had you melting into his arms until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

Brushing the hair from your face as he broke away, Clint said, “Stop thinking, okay? People forget to lock doors all the time. It’s not a big deal. These are your everyday average Joes. They aren’t spies. Their first thought isn’t going to be, ‘Oh, someone must have broken in here last night to find files on an ex employee who may or may not be a part of a drug cartel turned illegal weapons ring’. Not everything is part of a giant conspiracy.”

It was true, of course, but the doubt still hung heavy in your mind. “What if it is, though?”

“Did you know paranoia is a very attractive quality in a woman?”

You couldn’t tell whether he was being serious or not - you wouldn’t have been surprised either way, really; this life messed you up in unbelievable ways - but you didn’t press the issue any further. He was right. This was a success or, at the very least, it hadn’t been a failure. That was all you could have asked for.

“You wanna grab something to eat?”

“Clint, it’s four am.”

“Almost breakfast time, then. There’s a good pizza place a few streets away. They have this amazing one called The Feast which is just everything. Meat, veg, pineapple and six types of cheese. It’s great. You’ll love it.”

Any establishment which served pizza at this time of night could not be as good as Clint claimed but your stomach was starting to rumble so you reluctantly agreed. You could always have something a little more edible normal like a small side of microwavable garlic bread.

Pushing yourself up from the uncomfortable bench, you stretched out your arm and, against your better judgement, said, “Lead the way.”


	43. May 8th

“They thought you were an idiot!”

“Well maybe if you explained it to me like I asked then I wouldn’t have been so confused!” Clint snarked back, arms folded across his chest. He fingered the pages of the book in his hands, dog earing the pristine paper in a spiteful attempt to convince you to tell him what he wanted to know.

“And if you hadn’t gone to the McDonalds down the road to buy ice cream from them then you might have made it back in time to see the second half,” you pointed out, your face hurting from frowning so hard at his passive aggressive destruction of the programme. “And it isn’t my fault that you left your ticket in your coat so the men on the doors wouldn’t let you back in.”

“If I’m going to spend money on ice cream I would rather get three deluxe McFlurrys than one tiny pot of over priced, posh people sorbet,” Clint said, turning his nose up at the prospect.

You wished that he had been joking about getting three ice creams instead of just one but alas no. He’d turned up half way through the second act after clambering through the air vents to get back inside after being refused entry by the guards. Honoured as you were that he’d brought you a McFlurry - your favourite flavour, too - by the time it reached you it was nothing more than a slightly dusty cup of melted sadness.

Shaking your head, you pointed out that he could have read the programme to find out what the opera had been about. Or at least come up with a better lie than getting locked in the bathroom for an hour and a half to explain why he had no opinion on the “heart breaking nature” of the final scenes.

Clint sneered. “If you have to be told what it’s about then it’s a shit story.”

“You’re only saying that because you didn’t understand it.”

“Pretty sure we’ve got that covered. If it’s such a good story, why don’t you tell me what it was about, then?” A long moment of silence filled the car before Clint burst out laughing, his lips turned up in a smug smile. “I knew it. You couldn’t help me out because you had no idea what it was about either. You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

You bowed your head in shame. “Ten minutes in to the second act, yeah. But at least I read the programme so had some idea of what they were talking about.”

“What does it matter, anyway? Aaron and Claudia’s friends are all stuck up snobs and we don’t need to impress them. So what if they think I’m uncultured? I bet none of them can shoot a moving target while balancing one footed on a tightrope twenty metres in the air.”

“Honey, almost no one can do that.”

“I can.”

“And I’m sure you looked very handsome in purple spandex while doing it,” you smiled, missing his surprised, and then embarrassed, expressions because that was exactly what he’d worn in the circus.

You pulled into your driveway not long after, frowning before you’d even turned off the engine. Glancing over at Clint, you saw a similarly anxious look in his eyes. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Clint said. Usually so reassuring, the calming effect of his words was lost somewhat when he pulled a gun from the glove box and pressed it into your hands. He silenced your protests by pulling a small blade from beneath his seat.

His nerves had vanished like a switch had been flicked in his brain. Protectiveness radiated from his body, wrapping around you like a safety blanket. The intensity was a little overwhelming; Clint would die to protect you, that much was obvious from the burning fire in his eyes. Voice hard as steel, and yet somehow still warm enough to slow your racing pulse, he said softly, “Stay close to me.”

The front door was unlocked and swung open to reveal a bombsite. Even in the darkness, you could see that your living room was an absolute mess. The sofa had been overturned, the cushions all slashed. Bookshelves were empty, their contents laying discarded around the room, and every piece of artwork on the walls had been taken down and destroyed.

Clint put a finger to his lips and motioned for you to follow him. It felt wrong to be sneaking around your home like this, flinching at every tiny sound or shadow in your peripheral. The kitchen was the same as the living room. The cupboards had been completely emptied. Plates, mugs and, most horrifically, coffee pots had been smashed in the process, leaving the tiled floor looking like some kind of pottery graveyard.

A quick check showed the back door was locked so you continued your search of the house. Every room had been searched, each nook and cranny thoroughly checked, but nothing had been taken. This was no ordinary burglary - it wasn’t a burglary at all - but you’d known that from the moment you’d stepped inside. Whoever had done this was looking for something and it didn’t take a genius to guess what.

The final room you checked was the basement. Someone had tried to access the computers but, at least on first glance, it looked as if they’d failed to get into the system. That was, at least, one positive in this gigantic mess. All of your other classified files and identifying possessions, anything that could have linked you to SHIELD, were still in the biometrically sealed drawers beneath the desk although the thick scratch marks around the hinges proved they’d tried hard to get in.

You looked over to Clint and said, “Please tell me that the Jones files are in your box.”

A small sob of relief escaped your throat when he nodded. Clint immediately set the knife on the desk then wrapped his arms around your shoulders and into a hug. “It’s alright,” he whispered, pressing kisses into your neck and running his fingers through your hair. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, though, is it? They bypassed our security - my security - and broke into our house!”

“We can replace anything they broke. They didn’t get their hands on anything important. That’s all that matters.” Clint sat you down on the edge of the desk and positioned himself between your legs, stroking your arms. His touch grounded you, like it always did. Clint was your anchor, the one thing that kept you steady amid the sea of lies around you. “And something good has come from this.”

“What good could possibly…” You shook your head, almost embarrassed at missing such an obvious point. “There really is something in the files we took.”

“Exactly. If someone went to all this trouble to get them back and stop us from seeing those records, then there must be something worth hiding.” Clint paused for a moment. “Where’s Elsie’s USB?”

Your lips curved upwards at his question and you pulled your keys from your pocket. You tapped a crappy looking keyring for your old university and said, “The USB was too big, too obvious, so I transferred the data onto a micro-card. It’s embedded in here and I can keep it with me at all times. The lab rats have been working on this new kind of organic based tech which makes it undetectable by scanners, too.”

“I’m not sure they’d appreciate being called lab rats.”

“Trust me. If you spent more than an hour with them, you’d call them rats too. They freak out when you put them in bright light and you can bribe them with nice cheese. Some are a little creepy too but others are willing to talk to the right person. When I worked down in the tech wing, I got to know a few.”

“Is there anyone in SHIELD you don’t know? First Coulson. Now the experimental tech guys. For someone who hates people as much as you, you’ve certainly made a few useful friends.”

“It’s always good to have a few allies in this game, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Right now, if it means all that data is safe, absolutely. You really should think about uploading it onto the SHIELD servers, though.”

“I told you before, Clint. Until I’ve been through it all myself, I don’t want to put it out there incase someone decides to classify it or, worse, make it disappear entirely. But I will, I promise. When I’m done with it.”

He nodded, knowing there was no way to change your mind. It was a discussion you’d had a few times and the outcome always stayed the same. Clint saw the logic, especially since there had been a leak in the secure channels recently, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that keeping only one copy of the information was a risky play.

Clint brushed his lips over yours then gripped your waist to lift you off the table. “You wanna start tidying up tonight or leave it until the morning?”

“Now. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight after this, anyway. May as well be productive instead of just tossing and turning in bed.”

“I’ll help you, then,” Clint said, stifling a yawn.

“It’s alright, love. You can sleep if you want.”

“Wouldn’t be able to sleep without you there with me.”

Your heart was threatening to burst through your chest. With his soft words and even softer gaze, there was no denying how much your lives had changed since you’d met. You cupped his cheek with your hand and smiled. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Come on, there must be at least one coffee pot that survived.” Clint’s pace slowed to a halt and he hovered in the doorway for a moment, contemplating whether to throw himself back down the stairs in lieu of his realisation. “Who’s gonna tell accounting about all this?”

“I put in the last expenses claim,” you said, quickly. “It’s your turn.”

Clint caught your waist and pulled you against his chest, trailing his fingers over your back in the way he knew made you shiver. “Aw, sugar, no. Please. Please don’t make me talk to Alice again. She’ll hate me.”

Slipping out of his grip, refusing to be swayed by his puppy dog eyes and oh so talented hands, you raced up the stairs and called down to Clint. It was easier to keep your stance when you couldn’t see him. “I’m fairly sure she already hates you, my love. But she doesn’t mind me, which is why you should take one for the team…”

“Some team. Good partners don’t throw each other to the wolves!” Clint soon caught up to you and trapped you against the kitchen counter, strong arms firmly gripping the worktop either side of your body. His chest was pressed against yours and there was nowhere left for you to run. “Don’t make me do it, darling. Please.”

You let out a sigh, slumping your head against his shoulder in defeat. “Fine! But you owe me.”

“I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to you,” he said, rubbing circles on your back. “Name it and it’s yours.”

“That is a very wide offer.” You leant back in his arms, meeting his gaze. “What if I asked for something you couldn’t get or you don’t want to give? Are you sure you can trust me with that kind of power?”

“There’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t give to you, Y/N, and I’d trust you with my life. I thought that was clear.”

Honestly surprised by his sincerity, you brushed your lips over his and sighed contently in his arms. Clint really was a wonderful man and you didn’t know what you’d done to deserve love like this. You just hoped that when all of this was over, when you were both finally free from this madness and near constant threat, that he still felt the same way because you weren’t sure you could ever go back to a life without him.


	44. May 15th

“Do you know anyone who reads Mandarin?”

Clint looked up from his newspaper and frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. These were in one of the files you picked up and I have no idea what they are saying. The translation software is spouting rubbish.” You handed him the papers, as if seeing the foreign symbols might suddenly unlock a hidden part of his brain which could read the ridiculously complex language. Sadly, it did not. Clint just shook his head and passed them back. 

You fell dramatically onto the sofa, stretching out over the arm of the chair with your legs dangling off the edge and your head in Clint’s lap. He set his newspaper on the table and lightly drew his nails over your arm, stroking your skin as he stared down at you with great affection. 

Hidden beneath that, though, was a worry. Clint probably didn’t even realise but it hardened the lines around his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows. When he spoke, the slight cracks in his voice only served to further confirm it. “I think you’re looking a little too closely into these files, darling. You’ve spent the past week pouring over every work without stopping. Just like you did when you first got Elsie’s USB. You need to get some sleep.”

It had to be serious when Clint Barton, notorious insomniac, criticised you for your lack of a sleeping schedule. 

Closing your eyes hurt after staring at computer screens and old files for hours on end, so you didn’t. You just lay in his lap staring at the ceiling and trying not to let your mind become clouded by his concerns, however sweet and well intentioned they may be. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I’ll find something. I will. It’s in there somewhere.”

“Please, Y/N, just an hour or two. Let me make you some tea. I can give you a massage and you can take a break.”

“I’m not tired!” 

“Did I say sleep? No,” he said, stomping on your bratty attitude. You instantly apologised for snapping at him and, of course, Clint forgave you without a second thought. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before shuffling out beneath your body, replacing his legs with a cushion. It was nowhere near as comfortable and you were already missing his warmth. “I’ll be back in a minute, sugar. Just gonna go make you some tea. You want real tea or that fruity stuff that tastes like hotel soap?”

“Soap, please. And one of those nice chocolate biscuits you made yesterday, if there are any left.”

Clint returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of fruity tea and an entire plate of biscuits. He set them on the table and made himself comfortable beneath you once again. Almost immediately his fingers were in your hair, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands. His fingers provided a gentle pressure on your skull, slowly releasing the tension which had accumulated over the past few days. 

“Mmm, that feels nice,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

“Any time. So, I was talking to Nat earlier.”

Your cheeks started to burn at the mere thought of the gorgeous redhead, which did not go unnoticed by Clint. He poked you in the stomach and said, “Hey, now. Don’t forget you’re married to me. I don’t want you running off with my best friend.”

“I’d never. We’d stay here and flaunt our love right in front of you. Probably take the house, too. Kick you out on to the streets. But look at the bright side: it means you would be free to go back to New York and try your luck with Sam Wilson.”

Now it was Clint’s turn to go a glaring shade of red. It was frankly adorable how he stuttered and stumbled over his words and you couldn’t quite work out whether you’d accidentally hit on a secret crush or if he truly just found the suggestion ridiculous. “Why… Why on Earth… With _Sam_?”

“You’re Hawkeye and he’s the Falcon. Birds of a feather and all that.” The look of abject horror on his face was too much and you burst into a hysterical fit of laughter until you could no longer breathe. “It’s a joke, honey. Believe it or not, we normal people in SHIELD actually look up to you and the others. You’re celebrities and there are hundreds of pools and bets over which famous faces are getting together. It’s not serious - I mean, it’s none of our business, really - but there’s probably thousands of dollars in play by now. So, if you feel like earning me a quick buck...”

“So you really can run away with Natasha? No way.”

“Spoil sport,” you teased. “Anyway, what were you talking to Natasha about? And how? The rules are pretty clear. No contact with other field agents while out undercover.”

Clint rolled his eyes and put a hand over his heart in mock offence. “I’m no rookie, darling. Nat and I have been at this for a long time. We’ve got our own private communication links outside SHIELD’s network. Although, I probably shouldn’t have told you they exist so, uh, forget about that. Anyway, she was just letting me know how things are at HQ.”

“Is something wrong?”

“She’s not sure. There’s tension up top and Fury’s in a worse mood than normal. The government is trying to come down hard on SHIELD over something or another, probably the Inhumans again, and it’s all just a little strained. Plus the new secure channels aren’t doing anything to stem the curb of files being leaked so Fury’s pissed that there’s moles digging around in his house.”

“There are still files going missing?” you asked. “How is that even happening?”

“You’re the one with a better grasp of the tech but it either means that someone’s hacking the private servers or there are people letting them in and just not using the proper encryptions. It’s not really our problem, though.”

“So why did Nat tell you, then?”

“Because I’m nosey and like to know what’s going on.”

That was the first thing that Clint had said which made any kind of sense. Then again, you worked for a spy agency who still weren’t quite technically legal and were actively investigating hundreds of powerful corporations and powered individuals against the orders of the ruling bodies of the world. It was hardly surprising that there were people trying to break in to the servers and garner what kind of information SHIELD was collecting.

You took a sip of your tea, the artificial fruity flavour overly sweet on your tongue. You dunked one of Clint’s biscuits in the cup and waited for five and a half seconds exactly before pulling it out, the perfect time to soften it up without making it soggy. The taste of coffee was, expectedly, overwhelming since he couldn’t bake anything without but the thick, now melting, layer of chocolate over the top helped lessen its intensity. “These really are good, you know.”

“I told you I’m a good chef.”

“Yes, you are, honey,” you said, stretching up to kiss him. 

Clint’s arms circled your waist and pulled you upright. He pressed a kiss to the base of your neck then he licked the chocolate from your lips, moaning sinfully against your mouth. “Mmm, darling, you taste so good. Wish I could spend all afternoon tasting the rest of you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Aside from the fact you haven’t slept in over a week, can barely think straight and are probably seeing colours that no mere mortal should ever see? I’ve gotta go follow up on something about Claudia’s douchebag brother.”

“Can’t that wait?”

“Not today, love,” Clint said. He tightened his arms around your waist and lifted you up as he stood. Ignoring your protests of being capable of walking yourself, he carried you like a child up the stairs to your bedroom and set you on the bed. Hands on hips, shoulders back and muscles straining against the thin fabric of his t-shirt, Clint said seriously, “Now, you’re going to stay here and sleep while I’m gone.”

You shook your head and insisted, “I’m not tired.”

Clint wasn’t convinced - your drooping eyelids and distant gaze certainly said otherwise - but he recognised a losing argument when he saw one. Instead of pushing you further, his eyes skirted the room and settled on a stray newspaper which he tossed your way. And, of course, he managed to have it land in your lap without so much as glancing in your direction before taking the shot. “Do a crossword then.”

“I should be downstairs working on the case, Clint. I don’t need to rest.”

“Yes, you do. Stop arguing or I’ll tie you to the bed.” 

“I dare you to try.”

“Don’t tempt me, sugar.” Clint pulled a blanket over your body and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Dimming the lights, he sent you a pointed stare and said, “I’m serious, Y/N. Get some sleep. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You waited until the front door slammed shut before climbing out of bed to head back down the basement. However, the entire room shifted beneath your feet and you narrowly avoided cracking your skull on the bedside table as you fell. You weren’t quite fast enough to dodge the falling glass of water, though, and ended up a dripping mess. 

With a sigh, you clawed yourself upright and pried the sodden shirt from your skin. You tossed it aside and crawled back into bed, curling up beneath the soft blanket Clint had pulled from the cupboard. Your eyes were so heavy that even matchsticks wouldn’t have helped keep them open and the darkness soon took a welcome hold over your mind. 

So Clint had been right this once, after all. It didn’t mean you had to tell him. But he’d know. Of course, he’d know. God. You were never going to hear the end of this.


	45. May 22nd

The rain outside was cold and heavy, hitting the window like a million tiny pellets and leaving a slight chill in the air, but inside the dessert parlour it was (perhaps a little strangely for a place which sold ice-cream) comfortably warm. Sat in the corner of the otherwise empty parlour, you and Clint were curled up in a quiet booth, his arm draped casually over your shoulder.

You’d gone for a classic combination of chocolate and vanilla ice-cream with a crepe because there was no need to mess with perfection. Clint, on the other hand, had chosen the most ridiculous thing on the menu: a dessert designed to be shared by at least 6 people but he was confident he could tackle it alone. Eight scoops of ice cream, two giant waffles, a small mountain of fudge brownies, a bowl of churros and the biggest cinnamon doughnut you had ever seen. 

“You’re going to get a stomach ache later,” you pointed out, watching with morbid curiosity as he shovelled the food into his mouth. How a man could fit so much into his mouth without dislocating his jaw, you had no idea. And yet there Clint was, defying all laws of nature. 

Bubblegum ice cream dripping from his chin, he grinned, “Worth it.”

“You aren’t the one that has to listen to you empty your guts all night.”

“But you’ll look after me, won’t you? Sexy nurse kind of thing?”

“You are incorrigible,” you said, slowly sucking your spoon clean of ice cream. Clint was watching the action intently and you felt a warmth run through your body that not even the frozen dessert could relieve. You set the spoon down and leant in for a kiss, his cool lips a wonderful shock to your system.

Clint’s hand circled your neck, the other coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezed your leg gently, his kisses almost lazy as if he knew you had all the time in the world to continue this later. His thumb brushing over the sensitive spot at the base of your neck, his expression so intense that it would melt all the ice-cream in the parlour, he whispered, “I really am the luckiest man on the planet, you know.”

An irritatingly persistent buzzing in your pocket pulled you harshly from the moment. The spark of annoyance in your gut was replaced by excitement when you saw the notification on the screen: your search programme had found a match.

Placing the phone on the table so your partner could see too, you explained, “Those files you picked up from the therapists’ office? I’ve been running names and dates against the Cuttermans’ bills and expenditure to try and find something.”

“And?”

“Looks like I’ve finally got something.”

“Can you bring it up on here?”

You nodded. “Just doing it now. Right. It says a man called Jonathan Lee matches against a payment of Aaron’s from two years ago. Wait… I know that name. I’m sure I read it somewhere the other day…”

From your bag, you pulled your laptop and connected it to your private network. A quick search brought up the file in question. You spun the small computer around to show Clint, briefly checking that your screen was out of the line of all the establishment’s CCTV cameras. Thankfully, you’d chosen your space in the corner well.

“In Elsie’s USB,” you said, tapping the screen. The image wobbled where you touched the screen, your poor computer having seen better days. You refused to replace it, though; you’d spent years buliding it from scratch and consequently knew that it was 100% secure. All of the scratches and notches weren’t signs of damage or an indication that it was time to upgrade to something ‘better’. They just added character to an otherwise already extraordinary machine. “I knew I’d seen it. He works in a prison with majorly disturbed individuals.”

“Why was Aaron paying him?”

“Elsie’s notes said he’s made a bit of a name for himself as a less than moral guy. Lee helps people’s problems disappear but the CIA and FBI haven’t arrested him because he’s helped them deal with a few of their own issues over the past year.”

“He’s a mercenary, then?”

Clint’s opinions on mercs were rather well known. Having spent a large portion of his life in their company, he held their work in serious contempt and, perhaps smartly, refused to trust a word they said. A person only became a merc for two reasons: money or freedom to act without consequences.

They weren’t exactly the kind of people you relied on to have your back and were about as far from noble musketeers as they could be, even if they believed otherwise. When they only ever looked out for themselves, you could never trust their motives, as Clint had found out himself on one too many occasions.

Finding his hand beneath the table, you gave it a gentle squeeze. “Not Lee personally. That’s partly why they keep him around. He’s not so violent but for the right price he can put you in contact with someone who is. But that’s fairly recent. Before that, he made a name for himself as a ‘flexible’ practitioner. He’d put away people who were causing companies too much trouble and shut them up for good.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, signing people off as unstable and having them institutionalised. Makes evidence in cases look an awful lot weaker when the star witness is clinically insane. Begs the question: who was Aaron trying to get rid of?”

“Well, two years ago was when his company really started blooming. Profits went through the roof.”

“So someone found out he was making dodgy deals or what?”

“If he was then I haven’t found any proof of it,” Clint sighed, clearly frustrated at his inability to find anything concrete on the man. “I’ve been going through their finances for months. The company is cleaner than the Pope’s underwear. Shut up. What I mean is that there’s nothing to prove that there was anything illegal happening. They covered it too well.”

You brought his hand up to your lips and kissed the rough skin across his knuckles. “You’ve been trying your best, love. What if we check the staff roll at the time for sudden disappearances and cross reference it with records for institutionalisation?”

“They wouldn’t put someone in under their own name, surely?”

“Facial recognition on the files then?”

“That could take weeks.”

“I’ll get on it tonight then and I’ll put in a request to use a few of the servers at HQ to run it in the background.”

You fell back into a comfortable silence, mindlessly eating your desserts as you considered this new development. Clint was staring intently at your cracked and chipped computer screen as if it held all the answers while you focused your attention out the window, watching the raindrops merge and run down its length.

Mouth full of crepe, you asked suddenly, “What was that date again?”

Clint used his fingerprint to unlock your phone and checked the earlier alert. “The payment went through May 5th, 2017. Why?”

“Claudia has a picture in her living room from a holiday around then.”

More amused than anything else, although perhaps a little irritated that he wasn’t able to make such leaps himself, Clint asked, “Do you have a photographic memory or something? How do you remember all these ridiculous details? Why do you even know that?”

“You’ve heard Claudia when she starts bragging about her holidays. I could tell you the exact bra she wore to a party with the French Ambassador in 2013. And it helps that I’m just good with numbers and dates. Never forgotten a birthday or anniversary in my life.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Whatever. That holiday, they were in the Caribbean but she got sick after the first day - bad fish, she said, which I thought was weird as she almost never eats fish - and there are no more photos of her on the trip. You don’t think…” You pushed your half finished crepe and ice cream aside to make space for your laptop. Tapping away on the keyboard, you glance up and explained, “I’m running a facial recognition search for Claudia in the psychiatric hospitals on the island around that time.”

Every second that followed dragged longer than an eternity. You couldn’t even pick at your ice-cream as it had long since melted into a sad looking puddle (Clint had somehow managed to eat all of his before it met the same depressing fate; that or you were going to have a really unwelcome surprise when you checked your bag later).

Moments from banging your head on the table, you groaned, “I’m sorry, this would be a lot faster if I had the SHIELD servers behind me.”

“Don’t apologise,” Clint said, rubbing his hand on your back. “This is major. It’s worth waiting for. You can have some of my brownie if it helps you relax.”

“I don’t think that’ll help but thank you.”

Close to passing out, holding your breath in anticipation a little harder when ‘the moment’ lasts for ten minutes, you nearly fell out of your seat when a file flashed up on your computer, archived on a private medical server from two years ago. You opened it up and the colour drained from your face.

Turning to your partner, you breathed, “It’s Claudia, alright. Clint… Aaron had her sectioned.”


	46. May 29th

The world had stopped when you’d gotten the news yesterday.

It came through on your personal line - Clint’s actually; the one which was never meant to be used except in an absolute emergency. The one SHIELD didn’t know existed. Clint had been supposed to destroy it after you’d used it to call your mother before but he’d forgotten. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse. If he’d done his job, you wouldn’t know what you did now. Or maybe you still would have felt it.

She’d been trying to contact you for over a week through official channels but they’d blocked every single message from being passed down the line to you. HQ hadn’t wanted your emotions to blind you from the mission, especially now that you were finally making strides in your investigation.

In other circumstances, you might have respected that view but today you didn’t give a damn what SHIELD had to say. You were going to the service whether they liked it or not - and they most certainly would not. This was your father’s funeral and they were fools to think that they could stop you.

Clint held your hand the entire flight back to your hometown. You weren’t sure how he organised such last minute seats but were grateful he did. He kept you away from the in flight alcohol. He didn’t say anything when you curled up in your seat, head in his lap. He did the best he could, rubbing soothing circles on your back and making sure that you stayed hydrated during the flight.

When you arrived at the hotel, some time past 2 am where only the local drunks and the stray dogs were up, he carried you up to your room. Clint set you down and draped a blanket over your body while he sorted out stuff - you weren’t sure what and didn’t really care, either. It wasn’t long before he joined you on the bed, wrapping his body around yours and holding you close, safe and protected from your thoughts, throughout the night.

This morning, you were thinking a little more clearly. The shock of the news had passed and left you feeling hollow but able to function more than a mindless robot. Clint had been up for an hour already and been busy, hoping to make today as easy as he could for you. A steaming hot bath was waiting for you as well as a selection of unhealthy but delicious breakfast options, everything from pancakes to bacon sandwiches.

“I didn’t know what you’d want so I just went round the local cafes and got one of everything. There’s juice and a few other things from the supermarket too, if you want something lighter.” Clint paused for a moment and shoved his hands in his pocket bashfully. “I don’t really have the best coping mechanisms so don’t know how normal people do this. I just wanna help however I can. Sorry if it’s too much.”

You pushed yourself up in bed and kissed Clint lightly, savouring the warmth of his lips on yours. “This is helping, Clint. Thank you.”

After your bath, you got dressed and sat on the edge of your bed as Clint did your hair and makeup. His fingers skilfully arranged your hair into something simple but still striking, massaging the tension from your skull as he worked. In another life, he could have been a professional stylist.

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the non-existent creases in your colourful outfit (your dad had always been very specific: no black was to be worn when he died). Clint hovered behind you, close enough for you to feel the comfort of his presence but not enough to be smothered by it.

“I’ll be right here by your side, sugar. You aren’t alone.” Clint linked his fingers with yours and guided you towards the door. “If it gets too much, we can step outside or leave. Your family will understand.”

You managed to hold it together only until you saw your mum, waiting for your cab on the curbside. You ran into her arms and slumped in her embrace, all the pent up pain and regret easing in her presence.

Even in grief, your mum was perceptive as ever. She looked between you and Clint with curiosity, which spiked further when she noticed the matching gold bands around your fingers. You couldn’t tell what was going through her mind but whatever it was anger and judgement weren’t it.

She just smiled and said, “Your dad would be happy you’ve found someone to take care of you.”

“She takes more care of me, actually,” Clint said, although you were sure the opposite was true and that your mum was - as always - right.

The service was small, intimate. Only immediate family and your dad’s closest friends. It was absolutely beautiful. Most of the guests spoke, many in sign language, and while the sorrow was thick enough to choke on there was also a great deal of joy shared in memories of his youthful misadventures and admirable strength in his final few weeks.

A few stray tears fell when the final song began to play: bring me sunshine by Morecambe and Wise. Your dad had made you watch their Christmas specials every year when you were a child back in England and you could still remember them word for word. Those happy memories far outweighed the sadness in your heart but nothing hurt more than knowing you would never hear him sing this song again.

You stayed with your mum for the rest of the day, avoiding conversations with obnoxious relatives who hadn’t seen you since your blue hair phase back in college. She offered to put you and Clint up for the night even though she knew you wouldn’t accept. So, she drove you back to the airport, complaining about your playlist choice the entire way, and held you tightly at the airport gate. “Please, be safe. I don’t know what you’re involved with but even the Secret Service get more freedom than you. I don’t want to lose you too.”

“I’ll try my best, mum.”

She caught Clint off guard by dragging him in to an equally tight embrace and whispered something in his ear which left him solomnly quiet. However, you were too drained to pry. All you wanted was to get back home, fall into your bed and never leave.

But, of course, expecting such luxuries would be foolish.

You had barely stepped through the front door when your TV blared to life, a furious Nick Fury on the screen. “Are you both careless or just plain stupid? You have a job to do and you can’t just have Stark jet you across the country because you feel sad.”

Not even bothering to take off his jacket, Clint stormed into the living room and hissed, “Her father died and you weren’t even going to tell her. Take it easy.”

“We would have informed her when we felt the time was right.” A shred of guilt broke through his usual stone hard facade, the first and only time you’d ever seen the Director show any emotion other than anger or disappointment.

“That’s not good enough, Nick.”

Just like that, Fury’s mask fell back into place and his gaze hardened. “Well, it should be. You are Agents of SHIELD, for god’s sake. You know what you signed up for. If someone followed you, if they discovered her true identity -”

“We weren’t followed. I was careful.”

“That doesn’t fill me with hope, Barton. You would miss an armed tank if a dog ran by.”

“Did he - Did you just call me a dog?” you asked, finally stepping in to the conversation.

Clint tore his eyes from the screen and his expression immediately softened when he saw your offended expression. He squeezed your shoulder and said, “Aw, sugar, no. You’re not a dog. But if you were, you’d be one of those cute little half-breeds with -”

“Half-breed? Little?!”

“I also said cute. Please, focus on the cute part not -”

“Agents!” Fury boomed, the TV speakers crackling. “I have cut you both a hell of a lot of slack on this mission because somehow you are getting more results than any of our angles combined but this kind of behaviour will not be condoned. I half expect this shit from you, Barton, but you, Agent L/N? I thought you knew better.”

“I’m sorry, Director. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it bloody well wont.” Fury’s attention shifted off screen for a moment before returning to you both. With a sigh, he said, “Condolences for your loss, Agent. Barton, I expect your report first thing tomorrow.”

With a stupid salute, Clint said, “Yes, Sir. If that’s all…”

“Not quite. Agent L/N, there’s a line from Zepher One for you. I neither know nor care how you ended up being another of Coulson’s strays but he wants to talk to you.”

“Did you - You just compared me to a dog again. You heard that right, Clint? I’m not -”

Before you got your answer, the line went dead.

Clint pressed a kiss to your temple and said, “I’ll be downstairs doing my report. Tell Coulson I said hi.”

A few minutes later, just enough time to make a cup of tea and make yourself comfy on the sofa, Phil’s face appeared on the screen. He was looking a little worse for wear, a feeling that was clearly going around, but he still smiled when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. You don’t look good, Phil.”

“Can’t say you look much better. I’m sorry about your father.”

“How did you hear?” you asked, although you weren’t really surprised he knew. From what your mother had said, you were certain that she’d bitten the ear off almost every high ranking agent at SHIELD that she could get a hold of trying to talk to you this week.

Phil looked down at his desk before meeting your gaze again. “I keep an ear to the ground. Listen out to make sure you aren’t getting into any more trouble. Are you?”

“Depends on how you define trouble. Nothing quite like you and your team of misfits.”

“Misfits is such a harsh word.”

“But fitting.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it fits.”

You were quick to fill the silence that stretched between you before he could. “So… how’s my beautiful Lola?”

“My Lola is doing just fine but we’re not talking about her right now. It’s been almost two years since we last spoke so fill me in.”

“That could take all night,” you said, a pitiful last ditch attempt to avoid the subject.

“Eight hours until we reach base to refuel so I’ve got nowhere else to be except outside an airlock.”

You shook your head but found yourself smiling at his insistence. Making yourself comfortable on the sofa, you realised that maybe this would be a good distraction from your darker thoughts. “Well, I’m married to Clint now…”


	47. June 5th

“I’m just going to get a drink, love,” you whispered into Clint’s ear. You kissed his cheek and bathed in the way his eyes softened, in how he stretched out his arm as you left to keep his fingers entwined with yours for just a second longer as you walked away.

You twisted a path through the crowd until you were free of Clint’s watchful gaze; you no longer feared that he was keeping an eye on you as a superior agent, simply that he worried about your safety. Certain that he believed you to be squeezing your way through the kitchen, you took a sharp turn and slipped up the stairs.

You didn’t stop climbing until you reached the top floor. Face to face with the door to Aaron’s study, you glanced towards the window through which you had made your escape on your last visit here and shuddered. A phantom pain shot through your body, burning your chest and neck so that the slightest movement was agony.

It took all your strength to ignore the pain and focus on the task at hand. You crouched down before the door and pulled your tools from your clutch bag. Working on the lock distracted you from the uncomfortable memories of falling, especially as this was no ordinary lock.

You ran your fingers down the length of the door frame, feeling out where the minute vibrations changed. Pinpointing the sweet spot, you stuck a small device on the wall and pulled out your phone to control the mechanism. You weren’t entirely sure how it worked but your friend in R&D had assured you that it would get you inside any locked room, no matter how complex the security system.

The lights on your device began to flicker, turning from red to orange and then slowly to green as it worked its magic on the hidden lock. Just as the final LED flashed green, a sharp creek came from the stairs behind you. Busted.

Biting your bottom lip, you stuck your hands in the air and slowly turned around, accepting your fate. However, instead of Aaron, as you’d expected, you found Clint, resting comfortably against the wall, arms folded over his chest, an unimpressed expression on his face. “This doesn’t look like getting a drink.”

“Aaron, uh… He sent me to get something from his study…”

“You are a terrible liar.”

“Only when I’m trying to lie to you,” you pointed out. Turning your back on him, you returned your attention to the door. You tried to push it open but it wouldn’t budge. Obviously there was more than one lock keeping the study out of bounds; that or you’d just unlocked something else entirely.

You pushed yourself to your feet and began to search the wall for a secondary mechanism (or perhaps the primary one, you were no longer sure about anything to do with this bizarre secret lock). Feeling Clint’s eyes on your back, you glanced over your shoulder and grumbled, “Shut up and help me, will you?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he teased. Still, Clint crossed the small landing and assisted you with your search. “What are you doing up here, Y/N?”

“Aaron and Claudia are talking to that idiot senator. They’ll be busy for hours.”

“That’s a pretty big gamble to take, my dear.”

“There are over a hundred people down there. They won’t notice that I’m gone. Now that you’re gone too they’ll probably think that we’ve gone home. We always seem to disappear like horny teenagers at these parties.”

Clint slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. Playing with the thin strap of your shirt, the promise in his touch sending shivers down your spine, he grinned at your flustered expression. “You do things to me, baby.”

Shoving him away, your cheeks burning in embarrassment over just how readily your body responded to Clint’s (completely welcomed) advances, you grumbled, “Get your hands off me. I’m working.”

“You aren’t working. You’re breaking and entering,” he pointed out. “And you’ll be in more trouble than I can get you out of if you get caught.”

“I won’t get caught if you leave me alone to do my job.”

“What are you even hoping to achieve with this?”

You pulled a small makeup palette from your bag and clicked it open, revealing a set of tiny bugs. “I’m going to bug his study so we can listen in on whatever dodgy business he conducts in there.”

“This is reckless. I know you’re still upset about your father but this…”

“Has nothing to do with that.”

Clint didn’t believe you. Not at all. But he smiled and pulled a small contact lens box from his pocket, clicking it open to reveal an identical set of bugs. “Great minds, obviously. Come on. Let’s get this done before we end up in a police cell.”

“Or worse.”

“Let’s not think about that, shall we?”

It took another few minutes but you eventually found a panel in the wall which clicked open to reveal a recognisable locking mechanism. It was a seriously high spec piece of tech but you’d broken through far worse. Still, it was a surprise that Aaron used such an intense system to protect his private space. You pried the front of the keypad free and fiddled with the wires until the study door finally clicked open.

The room itself was like any other rich man’s study. The walls were lined with bookshelves and weird modern art that probably cost more than your education and definitely depicted some kind of abstract sex act. All the chairs were lined with a dark grey leather, a stark contrast to the white walls and carpet. His desk was made of glass and a top model computer sat atop the surface, surrounded by unopened files and reports.

Without a word, you and Clint set about placing the bugs. It was difficult to find places to hide them where they wouldn’t be seen but you managed to find a few. As you worked, you took the opportunity to flip through the private records and note books which he kept on the shelves, flicking through the pages for anything of interest.

As you fingered through the pages, familiar names like Department 31 and David Jenkins jumping out, you asked, “What do you talk about in therapy?”

Clint met your gaze in the reflection of the window and shrugged. “Stuff.”

A little horrified that the question had slipped out so untactfully, you immediately apologised. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious.”

“You,” Clint said, after a long moment of silence.

“Huh?”

“We talk about you, sometimes. And Bobbi. Life in general.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal, even though you both knew that it was quite the opposite. Sure, you talked to each other about personal things but this was the kind of private that Clint had no obligation to share. And yet here he was, answering your tactless question because he trusted you enough to do it anyway. “Apparently I have a lot of issues. Abandonment. Commitment. Self resentment. A problem with authority figures.”

“Your therapist told you all that?”

“Of course not. I snuck a look at my file when she was getting coffee.”

“Love…”

“I will never get tired of hearing you say that,” Clint admitted, gaze fixed on the record book in his hands. “I can feel you staring at me. Stop it. It’s fine. I think talking to her helps. She’s good.”

“I’m happy for you, Clint.”

Gently, well aware that suggesting such a thing might be enough to have you jumping out the window, Clint said, “Maybe you should go to a session some time. You could talk about New York or your dad.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you said, non committedly. You had zero intention of talking to a stranger about your issues, no matter how much it seemed to be helping Clint. You just couldn’t. You knew once you started talking you’d never be able to stop and that thought terrified you. It was hard enough to think of these terrible things in passing, let alone allow them to occupy your thoughts completely. If you opened yourself up to the feelings you were burying then they would consume you. You weren’t ready for that.

Shaking your head, you said, “I wish we could take a few of these records home with us. I bet there’s something in here about why he had Claudia sectioned.”

“You’re still thinking about that?”

“Of course I am!” Lowering your voice, concerned that your outburst may have accidentally alerted someone to your presence here, you said, “He paid a known criminal to have his wife certified insane and institutionalised under a false name.”

“He’s a dick and I’m not taking his side at all but you’ve met Claudia. It’s possible that she really did have a mental snap and he did it to help her. For his many faults, Aaron does occasionally seem to care about her.”

“But why use the false name?”

“Look at the people downstairs, Y/N. Image and status is everything to them.”

What he was saying made sense but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else going on here. There was more to this than met the eye - just like everything - and Aaron wasn’t innocent. Not at all. Maybe, deep down, he still loved Claudia but you’d seen how he’d been acting recently. There was a tension between them that they couldn’t shake and that you couldn’t ignore.

Before you could argue it any further, Clint grabbed your arm and said, “Someone’s coming.”

“Of course they are,” you groaned, utterly unsurprised. Shoving the book back on to the shelf, in roughly the same place you’d taken it from, you said, “We’ve never gotten any lucky breaks before this. Why would we now?”

“True. Plans?”

“I’m not going out the window again.”

Clint glanced around the room and fixed his gaze on a small cupboard beneath one of the bookshelves. “Fine. Over there.”

It was barely big enough for a child to fit in, let alone two grown adults, but it was that ot the window and your days of daring escapes were behind you. Clint clambered in first, curling his legs up and contorting his body into an uncomfortable angle to make space for you. He gestured for you to join him, the voices outside growing concerningly louder.

You climbed into his lap and precariously positioned your legs either side of his torso, your knees pressing up against the back of the cupboard and near squashing Clint between your thighs. Not that he seemed that bothered. In fact, he seemed quite happy indeed to have you squashed up against him in this way.

His arms circled your waist, closing the tiny gap between you. Clint brushed his lips against yours, stealing a kiss as he pulled the cupboard door shut. The sudden darkness had you tensing against him but Clint splayed his fingers across your back and pressed a soft kiss to the base of your neck, grounding you in the moment. 

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Deep breaths. It’s gonna be alright.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t even realised but your entire body was trembling. You wouldn’t admit it but being trapped in the dark with the very real threat of being discovered was uncomfortably reminiscent of how you’d felt in New York. The utter helplessness of the situation. Clint whispering comforting nothings in your ear, barely audible over the thundering of your heart thrashing in your chest.

You buried your face in Clint’s neck, the slow, steady beat of his pulse gradually calming your own racing heart. Your eyes were squeezed so tightly shut that it hurt but it was undeniably better than opening them and being met with nothing but darkness. The words barely more than a breath, you whispered, “Clint, I’m freaking out.”

“I’ve got you, sugar,” Clint whispered, kissing your neck. His hands found yours and he squeezed them gently. His calloused fingers drew patterns over your knuckles, every touch reminding you that you were not alone.

Outside your cupboard, there were people talking. Discussing something important. Their words fell on deaf ears, though. Your focus was locked solely on Clint. Hours could have passed and you wouldn’t have noticed, too lost in his soft touches. His lips against yours, his love for you a warm and tangible feeling that left you floating on air. It wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Filled in the holes in your heart, healed the cracks in your soul, until you were whole again.

“They’re gone, Y/N,” Clint said, some time later.

“Are you sure?”

Clint nudged the cupboard door open and stuck his head out into an empty room. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

You playfully slapped his chest, pointedly ignoring the panic you felt at his actions. If the room hadn’t been empty, if you’d been found… Well, it didn’t bare thinking about. Clint was wearing the most ridiculous grin - hiding his own fear over what trouble he might have found beneath a carefree charm - and you couldn’t help but match the smile.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “You’re an idiot.”

“Mmm but I’m your idiot.”

“Lucky me.” You awkwardly rolled out of the tight space, limbs tangled together like an old ball of string. Sprawled out on the floor, you threaded your fingers through his hair and leant down to kiss him. “Thank you.”

Staring up at you like you shone brighter than the stars in the sky, Clint kissed you back then promised, “I’ll always have your back. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Your eyes widened in fear when he stepped towards the window instead of the door. You shook your head a little too viciously and hissed, “Fuck that!”

Clint caught your expression in the reflection on the glass and burst out laughing. Throwing his hands in the air, rightfully concerned that you might shove him out the window for that joke, he slowly edged towards the door. “I’m kidding!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, babe.”

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

“Yeah, I figured but it was worth it to see your face.” Clint wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek when you turned away from him, smirking against your skin. He kept kissing you until you gave in and met his lips with yours, the both of you melting in to the other. “Seriously, let’s go home and I’ll make it up to you.”

You tiptoed down the stairs and slipped out the front door without anyone so much as glancing your way, the party guests too busy schmoozing one another to notice you leave. The evening air was warm as you walked down the street but Clint insisted on you wearing his jacket nonetheless and you didn’t refuse because you loved the way the fabric smelled of him.

The first thing you did when you got inside was kick your shoes off and Clint immediately scooped you up, flung you over his shoulder and carried you up to the bedroom. You squealed when he literally dropped you on to the bed but didn’t have a single complaint when he clambered in beside you and pulled you in to his arms for there was no place you would rather be.


	48. June 12th

You’d received the email this morning. The address looked like the kind that scammers used, claiming to be African kings or Saudi oil barons, but you’d recognised the signature numbers at the end. Attached had been a picture of a puppy that had had Clint fawning over the computer screen for a good ten minutes before you finally managed to tear him away. He’d nearly cried when you began to decrypt the image and the dog slowly disintegrated into nothing but disconnected pixels however his grief over the lost pup turned into excitement when the message hidden beneath had revealed itself.

_La Caille. 20:25. Back door. Dress nice._

“Now this is the kind of spy shit that I signed up for,” Clint cheered, stretching back in his chair wearing a supremely impressed expression. “How did you do that?”

“Magic.”

Clint shot up straight, eyeing you with excitement. You could practically see the cogs in his brain turning, deciding what should be his first request. An indestructible coffee machine? A spell that turns him into a dog? A pretty light show? The options were limitless for someone with Clint’s twisted creativity. “Really?”

“No, Clint.”

“Aw.”

“Sorry, honey. It’s just good old fashioned encryption. If it makes you feel better, it is a secret code that only one other person in the world knows, apart from me.”

“The message is good, then? We can trust it?”

You nodded. If there was one thing you were certain about in this world, it was that this had come from a trustworthy source. However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to get excited over the message. This code was a last resort and meant that something serious was about to go down. It was a last resort call for help, a sign that you were about to walk into real danger, but one that you would answer without hesitation nonetheless.

That’s how you ended up here tonight, sat in the corner of the restaurant, out of the line of sight of any CCTV camera, checking your watch every couple of seconds to check the time. You were nervous, you couldn’t deny it. Despite his best efforts, Clint couldn’t get you to eat anything so while you sat there picking at the stale breadsticks he was quite happily shovelling two meals into his mouth.

Searching the room for any kind of signal, a sign to confirm that now was the time, you were the only person in the restaurant who didn’t jump when the fire alarm began to blaze. Every light in the building went out, replaced by the flashing red of the emergency systems. It was laughable, really. Subtlety had never been her strong suit but this was obvious on an entirely new level.

Panicked waiters and waitresses began to herd customers out the front door, uttering reassurances which were far from comforting. They attempted to shuffle you out the building as well but you had other plans. You grabbed Clint by the hand and dragged him away from the crowd, ducking out the back door as per your instructions.

The air was thick with the smell of rotting food and garbage, just another incentive to get out of the dingy alley sooner rather than later. A CCTV camera hung above the back door but you assumed, after all the trouble to get you out the building, that it wasn’t currently connected to a network. Still, you weren’t keen on hanging around and finding out either way.

You followed a seemingly random path through the dark streets but the route was obvious to anyone who actually looked. Hidden in the extensive, and gratuitously explicit, graffiti on the buildings around you were clear directions, pointing the way to your destination. When you realised exactly where you were being led, all you could do was laugh.

The door at which you stopped was like any other. There was nothing special about it. No distinguishing features. It was the kind of door, the kind of building in fact, that you would just walk past without a second thought - not that this was an area of town that normally people casually strolled through, of course.

A skinny ginger man, probably no more than mid-twenties, opened the door when you knocked. He was wearing torn jeans and a t-shirt and you suddenly got the feeling that he was stronger than he looked. He gave you both the over once and said, “Sally Bowles? You’re here for Mistress Elsie.”

“Shut up, Clint,” you hissed under your breath.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I can hear you thinking with your dick.” You smiled at the ginger, resisting the overwhelming urge to punch Clint in the gut for the way he was grinning at the entire situation. “Yes, we’re here for Elsie. Uh, Mistress Elsie.”

He opened the door just wide enough for you to step inside then locked the catch before leading you down the hallway. It was as shifty a place as you’d imagined. The lights flickered above, a strange red-pink glow occasionally filling the hallway. All manner of noises were coming from the rooms on your side as you walked through the building. You’d never been so relieved to make it to a door in your life.

The ginger - who you were now convinced had to be an inhuman, as no bouncer was that small - motioned towards the door, looking bored. “We have a zero tolerance towards abuse to our employees. Since this is an illegal set up, I can and will kill you if you give me reason. Have a nice night.”

“Charming,” Clint mumbled, gesturing for you to take the lead.

“Finally, I thought you’d gotten lost,” Elsie said, the moment you stepped in to her room. Authority dripping from her voice, she said, “Pick your jaws up off the ground and tell me who’s tying up who.”

It took you a few moments to register her question since your brain straight up stalled at the sight of your oldest friend dressed in a black leather corset, fishnets and knee high boots. And if the effect her outfit had on you was one thing, the effect on Clint was something else entirely. His eyes glassed over and he was almost frantically looking between you and Elsie, trying to put logic to this bizarre situation.

His mouth was so dry that he had to try a few times to speak before the words finally came out, albeit so quietly that you had to strain to hear. “ _This_ is the friend that works in the sparkly pink hell that is _Beautylicious_?”

Elsie crossed the room, her boots clicking against the floor as she strode forward, and slowly pulled your thin coat from your shoulders. Her lips brushing against your ear, she murmured, “The sessions are monitored, Y/N. It’s shitty quality and has terrible sound but we’ve gotta make it look real. The mob run this place. Don’t want to upstet them.”

Turning her attention to Clint, Elsie said, “Take off your jacket and hang these up over there. Then you can answer my question and tell me who is tying up who.”

The seriousness of the moment was lost somewhat when a stray bread roll fell from the pocket of Clint’s jacket but the crack of Elsie’s whip on the ground brought you both back from the edge of hysterical laughter. “Quickly now,” she said. “We don’t have all night.”

Clint wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest. In all too romantic a way for an illegal sex dungeon, he nudged your nose with his and murmured softly, “Can I tie you up for once?”

“Clint…”

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart but -”

“Then please? We’re somewhere safe. Ish. Safe-ish. Where better to let go than a sex dungeon, right?” Sensing your unease, Clint pressed a soft kiss to your lips and assured you, “I get if you don’t want to. It’s fine. You know I’m more than happy to let you take control.”

From behind, tapping her foot impatiently, Elsie said, “I’ll strap you both down if you don’t a decision soon.”

Relinquishing your tightly held control, you agreed to let Clint tie you up just this once. You did trust him, and Elsie. And nothing was really going to happen tonight. After all, this was just for show.

“Help her out that dress and the ties are in the top drawer. I’ll be right back,” Elsie said. She gave you no time to protest as she was already halfway out the door.

“Well, we’d best do as she asked,” you said, turning around so that Clint could help you with the zip of your dress. The camera in the corner of the room made you uncomfortable stripping down but this was a performance, an elaborate lie and nothing more. It was nothing that the skinny ginger bouncer wouldn’t have seen before. Repeating that in your mind didn’t completely eliminate the uncomfortableness of the situation but it certainly did help. What helped more was that Clint was right there by your side.

His touch light as ever, brushing over your skin as he slowly unzipped your dress, Clint pressed gentle kisses on your shoulder blade and whispered, “Are you sure you’re alright with this, Y/N? Any of this?”

“I trust her, Clint.”

“That doesn’t answer my questions, love.”

“So long as you give me slack to move, I’ll be fine. I just don’t want to feel helpless. It’s one thing to give up control. It’s another to lose it completely.”

Collecting your dress from the ground and folding it about as neatly as a three year old could manage, Clint set it aside and pulled a set of soft ties from the drawer Elsie had pointed out. He wrapped the thin fabric around his hands and stretched it out, testing the strength but also just fiddling because he wasn’t entirely convinced you wanted this. “What did I tell you, sugar? I’ll always have your back. The moment you’re done, you just tell me, alright?”

“I love you so much, you know that right?”

“Never hurts to hear it, though,” he grinned, stealing a kiss as he walked you back towards the chair Elsie had left out for you. “I love you too, by the way.”

The chair was surprisingly comfortable seeing how it felt about two seconds from collapsing beneath you. Clint slowly wrapped the fabric around your wrists and the back of the seat. He then crouched down in front of you and repeated the process around your ankles, pressing warm kisses to the inside of your legs as he worked.

Clint stepped to admire his handiwork, more than a little turned on by the sight of you strapped down, wearing nothing by your underwear. His eyes roamed shamelessly over your body which somehow made you feel more in control of the situation.

Your eyes dropped to the growing bulge in his trousers. “You alright there, honey?”

“Uh…”

“Clint?”

“Mmmhmmm, I’m good… You just… Fuck, darling, you just look so sexy right now.”

“She is gorgeous, isn’t she?” Elsie said, her own gaze lingering a moment before snapping back into professionalism. She came over to check Clint’s knots and nodded in approval; if there was one thing any field agent should know how to do it was tie a good knot and Clint had clearly had a lot of practise.

Trailing her long, false nails down his cheek, Elsie cooed, “Good boy. Now sit over there and watch while I have a play with your gorgeous wife. And don’t you dare think about touching yourself.”

“This is so weird,” you whispered as Elsie trailed her fingers over down your neck.

Her breath was warm against your skin and you could feel her smiling behind you. Clint squirmed on the opposite of the room, although whether that was because of the two beautiful women in front of him or simply Elsie’s intense glare you didn’t know.

She nipped at your earlobe, then soothed the sharp bite with her tongue. “This brings back the memories, doesn’t it?”

"One time, Els,“ you breathed. "That was one time and we were both very, very drunk.”

“I remember at least three other times when we weren’t drunk and you -”

“Point made. Move on,” you groaned. “Why are we really here, Els?”

Elsie slowly circled the chair until she was standing directly in front of you. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realise that in this position she had her back to the security camera so what she said next was completely secret. Serious in a different way, her domineering persona replaced by an equally frightening mask, she said, “I know what you’ve gotten me involved in, Y/N. I’ve been flagged on the system and my security clearance is being revoked.”

“Els, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

She brought her whip down by your side, the sharp crack echoing around the room. “I don’t care what you want.”

Despite her harsh words, there was a softness in her eyes. Throwing her leg over yours, she straddled your waist and grabbed you by the throat. Behind her, Clint stiffened but you wordlessly assured you it looked worse than it actually was. There was no pressure against your skin and the angle at which Elsie held you was uncomfortable at worst.

“I’m in the shit, Y/N. I don’t know what to do. I’m out of options.”

That was a huge admission coming from her. Elsie always had a hand on the wheel. She was always in control. But now, because of you and your recklessness, she was facing major charges of espionage and that was only through the official channels. If the Syndicate knew she was involved somehow, none of you were safe.

“Get over here.”

Clint pushed himself up from the bench to join you. Elsie began to undo the buttons on his shirt, slowly, seductively for the camera. She had zero interest in him, though. Her eyes were on you the whole time almost laughing at the way your hands twitched, desperate to be the one touching Clint and not her.

“You want to help?” she asked.

There was no point in lying. “Yes.”

“Yes, mistress,” she corrected you, cracking her whip down on the floor again. “Don’t speak unless I say you can.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, the both of you well aware that you weren’t apologising for talking out of term.

Elsie’s mouth twitched into a sad smile before her mask came down again, hiding the emotions she was drowning under. Clint was so stiff beneath her hands, obviously uncomfortable as she traced the lines of his abbs. Removing his shirt completely, humming in appreciation of his exceptional muscles, Elsie murmured, “Relax, darling. If you’re good, then there’ll be no need to punish you.”

You glared at Elsie but she just smirked in response. If she was angry with you over this whole mess, then this was certainly a funny way of taking it out on you.

“Why don’t you go over to the cupboard and pick out something fun.”

Clint glanced at you questioningly, only moving when you gave him a sharp nod. Elsie crouched down and whispered, “You really do have him wrapped around your finger, don’t you, Y/N? Is he always this good?”

“He’s usually a pain in the ass,” you said. “But I love him.”

“He loves you too, darling. And you know I do, too.”

“I know, Els. I really am sorry for bringing you into this. I had no idea they’d find out you were invol - ”

"Someone’s coming,“ Elsie said, completely calmly. You didn’t know how she knew, or what she’d heard among the constant noise coming from the other rooms to suggest such a thing, but there was no doubt in her mind. Raising her voice a little, she said, "There’s a gun in the toybox, Clint. Take it and get yourselves out the back.”

“I won’t leave you to fight alone, Els!”

She pulled a knife from her boot and used it to slice the fabric around your wrists and ankles. “You will do just that, Y/N. I can look after myself but if they catch you here then I can’t help you.”

“The cameras -”

“I told you, they’re shitty quality. They won’t be able to pull a clear enough image of your faces to use in evidence.”

“You knew they were coming, didn’t you.”

“Yeah.” Elsie pressed your dress and jacket into your arms and all but shoved you out the back door. “Don’t blame yourself for this. I wouldn’t change anything for the world. I was thinking about leaving anyway; at least now I have a reason to disappear. I’ll keep them off your trail, Y/N.”

“Elsie -”

“Make her leave, Clint. And do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Take these bastards down.”

The door flung open and Elsie leapt at the men who stormed in, fearlessly brandishing her knife. She spared you and Clint a fond, final glance before slamming herself into the larger of the men sent to grab her, taking him down with ease. Even in a corset she moved with grace and lethality of someone who had spent their entire life training to inflict death on others. If you hadn’t been so terrified for your friend’s life, it would have been mesmerising to watch.

Rougher than he’d even been with you, Clint grabbed your arm and pulled you out into another dingy backstreet. You flung your arms about, desperately trying to get out of his grip and go back to help your friend but he was having none of it. He dragged you around the corner and threw you against the nearest wall, shielding your body from view with his own.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I will not let you go back in there.”

You squirmed against his grip but Clint was just too strong. His weight, spread evenly across your chest to ensure you could still breathe easily while restrained, was just too much to shift. Angry tears streaming down your cheeks, you hissed, “I have to help her, Clint!”

“Elsie seems more than capable of getting herself out of trouble. Trust her to do it now. I know you feel responsible but you heard what she said. She wanted us to leave her so we can continue the fight against the Syndicate.” He rested his forehead against yours and you slowly became aware of just how much his hands were trembling against your skin. Anger, fear and guilt sat heavy in your gut but they gradually began to lose their hold over you as Clint’s soft, calming words grew clearer in your mind.

You slumped against the hard brick wall, the cool uneven surface scratching at your bare back. “She’s my oldest friend, Clint,” you tried, a final, desperate plea for him to understand.

And he did. He understood the loss, the regret for ever getting her involved in this mess. But he wouldn’t - couldn’t - let you go back in there. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

Once he was sure that no-one had seen you, and that you weren’t about to do something stupidly heroic, Clint released his grip on your arms and took a step back. He kept his gaze low as you got dressed, giving you the privacy you needed to cry in peace.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you reached out and laced your fingers with his. Relief washed through you when he didn’t try to pull away. Without a word, you headed back to the main street where you’d parked your car, the both of you lost in your own thoughts.

It was about half way home that Clint suddenly turned the radio down - it had been quite happily playing to itself, even though neither of you were in the mood to listen - and turned to face you. “Why did Elsie want to see you tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“She seemed like a smart woman. I can’t believe she brought us all the way downtown, went to the trouble of setting off a fire alarm and covering our asses all night just to mess around with some rope and a whip.”

“She knew someone was going to try and take her. Maybe she just wanted to say goodbye.”

“One: she’s not dead. There’s no way she didn’t get out of there. She’ll pull a Natasha and disappear. You know, actually, she’s a lot like Nat, really. Beautiful, domineering and -” You shot him a sharp glare to get him back on track. “Right. Um. As I was saying… Two: I think you’re still missing the big picture. Elsie realised what we are investigating. She could have just said goodbye in that email. Instead, she went to all this trouble. For what?”

“What are you getting at, Clint?”

Instead of answering, he reached over and dug his hand in your pocket. You jumped at the sudden movement, the car swerving on the (thankfully) empty road before you regained control of the wheel. “Use your words if you wanna cop a feel while I’m driving! Heads up on that, we’ve talked about this!”

“That’s not what I'm… Ha! I knew it. I knew it.” Clint pulled his hand from your coat pocket and turned his palm upright to reveal a small USB. “She gave you more information. Whatever is on this stick -”

“That’s what set off the alarms in the system. That’s why there are people after her? Because of what’s on this USB?”

“I’d say so.”

“Do you think this will help take the Syndicate down?”

Holding back his optimism, too tired to be truly hopeful, Clint said levelly, “They wanted it back pretty badly so whatever is on there has to be of some use. We’ll get there, Y/N. We’re getting close. It won’t be long now, sugar. This will all be over soon. One way or another, it’ll all be over soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look we passed 100k words. To think I thought this would max out at 50k when I started writing it.


	49. June 19th

“Uh… This looks bad.”

_It is bad, Clint, you signed, keeping your back to the living room. We’re in serious shit._

_You should have called me back earlier._

There was no way you would have done that and you both knew it. For the first time in months, Clint had found the time to drive out to the shooting range. He’d spent the whole morning doing target practise at a proper range instead of a rapidly disintegrating and frequently replaced paper target on the wall of your personal gym. He’d been so excited to go and let loose, to work off some of the tension that had set in over the last week. Nothing, save for perhaps an alien invasion, would have convinced you to interrupt that.

Clint leant in to kiss you but abruptly pulled away, remembering that you had company. Instead, he awkwardly patted your shoulder as he set his training bag on the ground and crossed the room. He took up a curious position against the wall near the kitchen, perhaps considering it the easiest route of escape but also aware of how it put him at a slight angle to your guest. Resting comfortably against the doorframe, bow resting against his leg just in case, he asked, _How long has he been here?_

_About an hour. Feels more like a year. He barely said a word the entire time. Just sat watching me work. Disconcerting, really._

_He ate my cake._

_Yeah, sorry, honey. He saw it on the side and I wasn’t exactly gonna say no._

_But that was my cake, Y/N. The last slice of my cake._

_Bigger problems, Clint._

_But my cake…_

_I’ll buy you a new one._

“Are you two quite done?” Fury asked shortly, tired of your frantic signed conversation. Either he hadn’t understood a word you were saying to one another or he simply had no regrets over eating Clint’s dessert. Whichever it was, you knew that this was one grudge that Clint would hold for a long time - or at least until he got distracted and forgot about it entire.

Fury’s neck was stretched uncomfortably far to get a decent look at you both, the spot Clint had chosen just out of his normal line of sight. Of course, most things were out of his normal line of sight with only one eye but the tactical decision still stood firm. “I have places to be.”

You nodded awkwardly, retaking your seat on the sofa as far away from Fury as you could get without seeming rude. It wasn’t your fault that he had a prickly attitude. Well. You probably were the reason for his bad aura today but not all the time.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Barton.”

“Director,” Clint said. He was projecting an air of relaxation which was doing nothing to calm the rising tensions in the room.

“Why don’t you join us?”

“I’ll be alright here, I think. So, what can we do for you?”

Like you, Clint didn’t believe that Fury was here to cause you harm but he couldn’t shake the paranoia that came naturally in situations like this. The Director didn’t seem to take it personally, though. He just turned away from the archer, confident that he wouldn’t be shot in the back for his troubles, and focused his unwavering attention on you instead.

Not beating around the bush any longer, Fury said, “Homeland is demanding that I hand you two over for questioning. They have a tape of you last week, talking to a known fugitive. What part of undercover do you not understand? And a sex dungeon? Really? Just how long have you two been sleeping together?”

“It doesn’t matter.”.

“You know the rules exist for a reason, right? Just because you’re useful to an investigation doesn’t mean you get free reign to do whatever the hell you want.”

The words like acid on your tongue, you said, “It’s only a bit of fun.”

Fury narrowed his eye, glancing between you and Clint for some sign that that was remotely true. With your entire career on the line, keeping a straight face was surprisingly easy.

Turning back to your partner, the Director asked, “What have you got to say about this mess, Barton?”

Clint hadn’t moved from the wall and disinterest radiated off him. Twirling his bow, he met Fury’s gaze head on and shrugged. His bravery was admirable. There wasn’t a single physical tell that he was intimidated by the Director. It was almost scary how good a liar Clint could be. You’d gotten so used to the relaxed, clumsy and all around disastrous ‘everyday’ version of him that you’d almost forgotten that he was a highly trained spy. 

He pointedly met your gaze when he spoke in the hope that it would convince Fury of the lies he was spinning. As if maybe there was some truth to the lies and that this was him taking the opportunity to bring his true feelings to light. “I don’t know what you want us to say, Nick. It’s been a long nine months. There’s only so many ways you can blow off steam when you’re trapped in a house in the middle of nowhere with nosey neighbours from Hell.”

“Keep the details of what you’re blowing to yourselves. I just need to hear that it’s over.”

“We’re making progress in the investigation, Director,” you said slowly.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“That’s what matters, though, isn’t it? That is our mission here. Personal… infractions aside, that’s why we’re here and we are making progress.”

“No, no. You’re missing the big picture here. The two of you have become a problem, again. A problem that I now have to deal with. So unless you’ve got an amazing alibi to cover your asses, there is only so much that I can - that I’m willing - to do for you. You’re good agents but recently you’ve caused me more trouble than even Stark has managed. I have other things to deal with than fighting Homeland on this.”

Clint plucked the string of his bow, the uneven rhythm the only suggestion that this entire situation might be bothering him. “SHIELD has people to deal with this kind of thing. Why don’t you just let them entertain Homeland and keep them off our backs.”

“This isn’t some minor collaboration between departments, Barton. They are out for your blood. Whatever you’ve gone and done, it’s backfired majorly and the fallout is going to be near impossible to contain unless you give me something to work with.”

Fury wasn’t going to leave until he got his answers; he was persistent like that, you knew. However there was so much you couldn’t tell him. The truth about you and Clint. About Elsie and how you’d already failed to protect her once. And yes, he was the Director of SHIELD but you couldn’t fight the paranoia and the voice in the back of your mind which said you couldn’t trust him - that you couldn’t trust anyone. You had no idea who they were connected with.

“Director Fury, please. We are so close now. Just give us another month or two to wrap this up. I know we can.”

“It’s admirable that you think you can do in a few weeks what you’ve failed to do in months. Stupid but admirable.”

“So… Is that a yes?”

“To what, Agent? You didn’t ask a question.”

Two seconds away from throttling the utterly infuriating man who unfortunately happened to be your boss, you took a deep breath to calm your more stabby urges. Such urges had subsided drastically since working with Clint, something you’d certainly never anticipated, but Fury’s smug sarcasm was continually riling you up the wrong way.

Out the corner of your eye you caught Clint biting back a smirk, clearly amused by your struggle to keep a straight face. “I think what Y/N is trying to say is that you have a choice to make, Nick. Are you going to let Homeland kick down the doors to your house and piss all over the furniture or are you going to show them who really has the power?”

A heavy silence hung between you as Fury weighed his options. He wasn’t an easy man to pin down in any sense but it soon became clear to you all what he’d decided. Shaking his head, already regretting the decision, the Director said, “Three weeks, tops.”

“In return for what?” Clint asked, catching on far quicker than you that there would be a cost.

“Give me everything you currently have on file and I can keep them off your backs for three weeks. After that, you’re coming in for official questioning and you will cooperate with those bastards from Homeland. Whatever you’ve gone and done to piss them off is not SHIELD’s business and I will not risk everything to protect you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” you muttered. “Thank you, Sir.”

It took over three hours to transfer everything off of your private servers into a strange looking cube that the Director kept in his pocket. During that time, you didn’t say a word to Clint. In fact, you barely spared him a glance. You couldn’t take the risk that Fury would see the truth. Thankfully, Clint took the hint and excused himself to your private gym where he proceeded to (loudly) beat the shit out of every punching bag you owned.

When the final megabytes of data finished transferring over to his cube, you lead Fury out of your house. As if this had been nothing more than a cordial visit to an old friend, he shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his coat (which he must have been sweating in; it was boiling out) and said, “Thanks for the tea, Agent.”

“Anytime, Director.”

“Remember. Three weeks.”

“We won’t forget, Sir. Thank you.”

You closed the door behind him, not surprised to find Clint lurking at the bottom of the stairs. While there were other more pressing matters, you took a moment to admire how great he looked in his post workout state. His shirt clung to his body like it was a second skin. You really were a lucky woman.

“You know I didn’t mean what I said, right?” he said, jumping off the bottom step. He took your hands in his and ran his calloused fingers over your skin. “You mean so much more to me than just blowing off steam.”

“I know, Clint. What are we going to do?”

“Our jobs,” he shrugged. “We keep digging. Go through Elsie’s files and find something to nail these bastards before they hang us out to dry.”

He made it sound so easy. As if there really was going to be a magical file amongst all the terabytes of data that would prove everything. You couldn’t help but think that optimism like that was foolish. “You think we can do this? In three weeks?”

“We don’t have a choice. But yes, I think we can. You weren’t wrong, Y/N. We are so close. We have most of the pieces of the puzzle. We just need to put them together now.”

“What if we can’t?”

“We will,” he assured you.

“Clint…”

“Y/N. It’ll be alright. And if it’s not, I hear Mozambique is lovely at this time of year.”

Over the months, you’d developed a bond with Clint. Not just your relationship, emotional or physical. You’d come to slowly understand the bizarre way his mind worked. He was able to make leaps that very few other people would ever see, let alone understand. However this was one jump that you couldn’t fathom out.

No amount of abstract thinking providing an answer, your head lolled to the side in confusion. “Why would we go to Mozambique?”

“Aside from the fact it doesn’t extradite to the US? I like the name. There, that’s more like it,” he said, tracing your smile with his thumb. He truly was something else. With a seriousness that scared you, he said, “However this turns out, I’ve got your back. Trust me.”

“Always, Clint.”

“Then we’ll make it work. I promise.”


	50. Jun 26th

You turned the dial up until the water scorched your skin however it did little to strip away the thick layer of murky emotions that had been weighing you down all week. Ever since Fury’s little visit, you’d been drowning in your thoughts. You were on the verge of cracking under the pressure; the smallest inconvenience would be enough to nudge you into a complete breakdown.

Working the shampoo into your hair, you dug your fingers into your scalp and tried to relieve some of the tension threatening to burst out of your skull. You focused on the scalding water as it trickled down your face, the burning drops hiding the tears that fell from your eyes. The soft smell of a fruity shower gel filled the bathroom as you rubbed the bubbles over your skin, a scent you automatically associated with Clint.

Normally, that would have brought a smile to your face. Not today.

You were still as stressed as ever, cold to the core despite the blistering warmth of the shower. Your muscles were so tight it hurt; week on edge, convinced that someone was going to come for you and tear away everything you’d built here, had left you jumping at everything from the quiet beep of the coffee machine to the washing line creaking in the wind.

A banging on the bathroom door had you grabbing your razor, slipping slightly on the wet floor as you brandished your makeshift weapon. “Who’s there?”

“Who do you think, honey? It’s just me. I promised I’d stop selling tickets to the neighbours to watch you in the shower.” Clint’s soft voice floated through the door, calming your racing heart with his stupid jokes.

You set the razor back down on the side, feeling stupid for reacting so irrationally. “What do you want, Clint?”

“Got something you need to hear.”

“Five more minutes.”

“No, seriously, you need to hear this _now._ Aaron’s on the phone waiting to talk to someone and I think it’s Maya Harding.”

“What?” you yelped. “Why didn’t you start with that?”

Fumbling out the shower, you slipped on the tiles and fell forward, hands wrapping around the towel rack to keep you upright. Unfortunately, your weight was too much for the rail to hold and the thin screws which held it in place tore from the wall. That was a problem for another day, though.

You wrapped a towel around your body, too keyed up to take even a moment to appreciate the fluffy softness against your skin, and stepped over the broken rail towards the door. Flinging it open, you pushed past Clint, slid down the stair banister and raced down to the basement.

Clint, only a few steps behind you, hit his head on the low ceiling as he stumbled down the final steps in a rush to keep up with you. However he barely seemed to notice the new bump on his skull since it was only adding to the existing collection of cuts and bruises that testified to his eternal clumsiness.

The wheely chairs skidding across the room as you fell into them, you walked yourselves back towards the desk and turned up the volume on the computer. Aaron was still on hold but thankfully it was just a long tone instead of some dreadful jazz rendition of never going to give you up. Apparently not even the Syndicate was that evil.

The unending monotone was stress inducing enough without Aaron’s heavy breath thrown into the mix. Sensing your unease, Clint stretched his arm out and laced his fingers with yours. Such a familiar action now, he didn’t even have to look to find your hand. His fingers hovered over your wrist and out the corner of your eye you caught him smile to himself as the contact of his skin against yours brought your thundering pulse back to sensible levels.

Clint leaned over and kissed your cheek, scrunching his nose when a drop of water trickled down from your damp hair. He pulled back and said, “You’re wet.”

“That’s generally what happens when you have a shower,” you said.

"I’d have joined you if I’d known. I thought you were just have a really long shit after that dodgy Japanese we had yesterday.“

"Note for the future, honey: when you’re going for romantic, don’t mention having a shit.”

Before Clint could come up with what would inevitably have been an underwhelming retort, the long beep cut out and a cold, harsh voice broke the silence. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk,” Aaron said. His voice wavered slightly, possibly interference from the bug but more likely fear shining through his usual smarmy confidence. You tapped a few keys on your keyboard, adjusting the levels of the feed and triple checking that this was being recorded.

The woman sighed, already bored of the conversation. “Get on with it, Cutterman. I’m busy.”

“There have been… issues.”

As Aaron babbled on, slowly but surely digging himself into a deeper hole, you turned to Clint and asked, “Are we the issues?”

“It would make sense.”

“So Aaron knows about us?”

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve been on the Syndicates radar for a good few weeks now…”

Down the phone line, the woman’s humourless laugh snapped your attention back to the call. You had the feeling that if she and Aaron were in the same room, that she’d most likely have throttled him by now. She was obviously unimpressed by him and had no time for his restating of the obvious. “Yes, I’ve heard about your incompetence. I don’t need more details. How do you plan on rectifying the problem?”

It was pitiful, really, the way that Aaron was scrambling to recover. For someone made his fortunes in the cut throat world of business, he lacked the charm and charisma to adequately talk himself out of this. “It will be dealt with but it needs to be handled delicately, you understand. These are highly trained individuals. The woman from Homeland has vanished and as for the others -”

“I don’t care about the details. Just sort it out. Your ineptitude is making me look bad. Soon. Everything needs to be in order for the Ivanoff deal. I will not have you fucking this up for us.”

“You have my word, Maya.”

Clint squeezed your hand so tightly that you momentarily lost feeling as he forgot to check his strength. You couldn’t blame him, though. This was the first direct confirmation that you’d had to prove that Aaron was involved with Maya. Sure, one phone call wouldn’t prove anything but it was a start.

“Your word means nothing to me, Cutterman. The only reason that you are still involved is because Carson -” _Claudia’s brother,_ Clint mouthed “- has insisted that you are the man for the job. You’d better prove him right.”

Maya’s unspoken “or else” came through loud and clear. It may not have been directed at you but you still shifted uncomfortably in your seat as a cold shiver ran down your spine. Aaron had no chance to argue his worth - whatever little that may have been - for Maya unceremoniously hung up. Mafia boss or not, you couldn’t help but agree with her dislike for Aaron.

You took extra care in saving the recorded conversation, ensuring that the files were encrypted and secure before transferring them onto your own private server. You still weren’t convinced that the SHIELD ones were safe and would not risk your first piece of real, usable evidence.

Clint was smiling, his eyes sparkling in the reflection on the computer screens. He stretched back in his chair, casually throwing his hands behind his head. “I told you we’d get our lucky break eventually.”

While you agreed that this was a breakthrough, you lacked his overconfidence that it would solve everything. One brief phone call did not mean a closed case. “Well, it’s not exactly a lot, is it? We still need to find out about this Ivanoff deal before we take it to Fury.”

“One step at a time, Y/N.”

You slowly dragged your hands down your face and let out a deep groan. “I know. I’ve just… There’s a lot going on here. It’s hard to stay positive when shit keeps coming at us from every direction. But you’re right; it’s a start.”

Clint was momentarily stunned into silence but your admission. That was not something he heard often, not because you held back praise but because, truth be told, he was rarely right at all. More often a fluke than not, Clint mostly stumbled into being right by accident.

His excitement at being right over something - even something obvious like this - faded into to concern when he looked at you, slumped in your chair. “You wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” you asked, readjusting your towel as you shifted awkwardly.

“Why you’ve been scorching your skin in the shower and training in the gym til you collapse? You’re barely eating and I know that you’ve been having trouble sleeping. What’s up, honey?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Clint said, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on your bruises knuckles. “But if you wanna talk about it, I’m here.”

“I know.”

You wanted to explain. You really did. It was just too hard. You weren’t ready to dive into your twisted inner turmoil quite yet but you owed him an explanation for your terrible attitude of late and borderline destructive behaviour. Yeah. You’d talk to him soon. When you were ready.

As you climbed back up the stairs to finish your shower and wash the conditioner from your hair, you wondered if that day would ever come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go on holiday next week and don't get back until July 26. However, there are chapters being posted/queued on Tumblr (same URL) I just won't be posting them on here until I'm home.


	51. July 3rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some blood and injury here, just a quick warning for you

You weren’t fast enough. A terrifying crack echoed down the street, a burning pain at the back of your skull left you dizzy and unable to focus on anything. The sharp, metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. You spat out the thick red liquid and wiped your lips on the back of your hand, pushing yourself up right just in time to avoid another hit from the burly man.

The bricks crumbled where he punched the spot your head had just been. He roared out in rage and dived towards you, all two hundred and fifty pounds of him coming at you like a rogue freight train. You stumbled out the way, a twisted satisfaction in your gut at the way he crumbled to the ground when he collided with the wall.

Pulling the knife from his hand, you turned back to the fray and charged at the one trying to subdue Claudia. Her lack of fight training showed but she was certainly making it difficult for the man to take her anywhere. Limbs were flailing. Ear piercing screams filled the air. In her mad scramble, Claudia managed to land a hit between the guy’s legs.

You were at her side as she stumbled out of his arms. Acting as a barrier between Claudia and her attacker, you took your stance and waited for him to make the first move as your vision finally began to clear. Thankfully, all he had in his corner was his size. When it came to skill, you won hands down.

Not that you didn’t come out unscathed. He slashed your bicep and made a good attempt at impaling you on a broken railing but you somehow managed to avoid any major damage. Your opponent, on the other hand, was not so lucky. You made it quick, probably more than he deserved, and didn’t spare him a second glance.

“Can you walk?” Clint asked, backing up to where you and Claudia had taken refuge.

“Yeah, I’m good. You sure you can do this?”

“I’ve got this. Find somewhere to hide. I’ll find you.”

You kissed him desperately, lingering only as long as you dared. “Please be careful, Clint.”

“Hey, ugly! You want them, you gotta go through me” Clint yelled, grabbing the attention of the remaining men who were closing in on you. Not wasting a second he launched himself at the rabble, holding them at bay so that you could get Claudia somewhere safe.

Loathed to wait even a second longer, you grabbed Claudia’s arms and tugged her down a backstreet. She whimpered as you dragged her around the corner. You could only imagine how you looked right now: dirt clinging to your sweaty skin, blood pouring from the wound on your arm, eyes afire from the adrenaline and the battle high. No wonder she was scared.

Claudia had called you earlier, asking for you to walk her home. She’d been out for lunch and convinced herself that she was being followed. Apparently her paranoia was actually founded in truth for less than ten minutes into your walk these thugs had herded you down a back street and started beating you all to within an inch of your life.

“Where’s Clint?” Claudia asked. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Shut up, Claudia!” you spat. You ducked down behind a large bin. It was wide enough to hide you both from view but didn’t impede your view of the street. Your fingers tightened around the handle of the blade as warm blood trickled down from the sharp edge on to your hand.

The stench of stale piss and rotting food was an assault on your senses and while Claudia scrunched her face up at the onslaught you had bigger issues to worry about. Clint was still nowhere to be seen and it had gone scarily silent.

Fingers clamped around your arm and you swung your knife around, barely able to stop yourself before you accidentally plunged your knife into Claudia’s chest. You pushed her away and hissed, “For fuck sake, Claudia, don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry.”

You took a deep breath and told her it was fine. For most people, being shot at, threatened at knife point and almost kidnapped was not a regular occurrence on a Wednesday afternoon. You had to remember that you were the exception here and Claudia’s panic was completely justified.

Scratching at the pavement with the tip of the knife, you turned to Claudia and said calmly, “You need to tell me what the hell is going on, Claud. Those weren’t your regular stalkers. It’s the Syndicate, isn’t it?”

She didn’t try to deny it. “Yeah. It’s been them since the beginning.”

“Why? You and Aaron work with them. Why would they send their thugs after you?”

If you were being frank, you hadn’t expected her to answer. For the past 10 months, she’d done nothing but hide the truth from you. There was no reason to believe that she would break that streak now. And yet, as she met your gaze, you saw it in her eyes. That overwhelming exhaustion that came from burying the truth, of fighting with your conscience every second of the day, and staying quiet when there were people who needed, who deserved, to know what was really happening.

“A few years back, Aaron’s company was struggling. We were going to lose everything. Then out of the blue it suddenly started getting better. He bought me all these expensive gifts, took me out to places we’d never been able to afford before. He said it was just that his luck had changed. It didn’t feel right, though.

"I dug around. I got onto his computer and found the company books. When I realised who he’d gotten involved with, I panicked. I took all the data I could find and was about to go to the police when they realised what I’d done.”

“That’s why he had you institutionalised,” you realised.

Claudia let out a short laugh, devoid of all humour. It was harsh and bitter, cold and dripping with pain. “That’s a nice word for what they did. He and Carson… They locked me away and drugged me up until I could barely remember my own name. I don’t know what they did to me exactly - I don’t want to know, either - but by the time they deemed me ‘sane’ I was Aaron’s perfect little trophy wife again. I did whatever he said and got so comfortable in the lie that it was easier to face than reality.”

“What changed?”

“You, Y/N. Ever since you and Clint showed up, you’ve been asking questions, causing trouble. The last few months, while you got closer and closer to what’s actually happening, have been terrible. Even the lies stopped being safe.”

You couldn’t deny that. In hindsight, there was a lot that you should have done differently on this mission but you hardly had the time to dwell on it now. Twisting the knife as you thought, you said, “That doesn’t explain why the Syndicate just tried to kill you.”

“Files have been going missing again. They think I’ve been giving them to you and are willing to kill us all to keep it quiet. I haven’t done anything but you are FBI or CIA or something, aren’t you? That’s why they’re scared of you. They know you can stop them. You have to help me, Y/N. I can’t go back. I need to get away, far away, from here. Please, help me.”

“I’ll do what I can, Claud, but SHIELD will need more than this if they are going to protect you.”

She nodded, understanding perfectly. “There’s a deal next week. Ivanoff. The Syndicate are selling some serious weapons to him. They’re all going to be there. Maya, Carson, Aaron. It’s going down at the old army training base sometime after midnight. That’s all I know, sorry.”

“That’s more than enough, thank you, Claudia,” you said, already pulling your phone from your pocket. You typed in the number you had memorised and waited for the tone to sound. You input your security code and your location then rocked on your heels anxiously as you waited for a reply.

A sigh of relief passed your lips when your phone buzzed. Coordinates and a time. “We’ll get you to somewhere safe.”

Claudia threw her arms around your neck and pulled you into a tight embrace. She was trembling against your body. Whether from fear of what she was running from or excitement that she was about to get away from it, you did not know. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me yet. SHIELD will have a lot of questions for you.”

“I’ll answer them all, I swear.”

“I know,” you smiled. It was unbelievable how Claudia, who had once been the bane of your life, was now the one that was going to solve all your problems. The universe worked in such strange ways.

Wiping your bloody hands on your trousers, you glanced down the street then, sure you were alone, pushed yourself upright. “Let’s find Clint.”

“You called? Whoa, you wanna take that knife out of my balls, please?” Clint jumped backwards out of your arm’s reach and threw his hands in the air. Despite the numerous serious cuts and bruises on his face, his amusement shone through bright as day as he stretched down to help Claudia to her feet. “I know we said we were gonna try some new things but that’s a little too extreme for my liking.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, gently smacking his chest. “You alright?”

“Might have cracked a rib but I’ll be fine. Are you okay?”

“No major harm done. Bit of a headache but I’ve stopped bleeding. We need to find a car,” you said. “Extraction is meeting us tonight. It’s a good few hours drive so we should really get going.”

Clint frowned. “We’re leaving?”

“No. That would be me,” Claudia said meekly, as if he might think her a coward for running away. “Witness protection, right?”

Instead, he just smiled at her and, a little awkwardly, patted her on the arm. “Good. You help us bring down the Syndicate and I’ll forgive you for every time you’ve insulted me.”

“I’ve never… Yeah, okay. I’m sorry about that. You don’t dress that badly. In fact, hobo chic is quite in right now -”

“Maybe the insults were better,” Clint teased. “Come on. Let’s find us a car and get out of here before anyone else comes for you.”

Claudia’s eyes went wide, the realisation that the Syndicate would never let her go so easily a crushing blow to her relief at escaping. “Will they ever stop?”

You glanced over at Clint, silently asking whether he thought she was strong enough to handle the truth or not. All you got was a shrug in response. With a deep sigh, you turned to your friend and said, “Honestly? Probably not. SHIELD will protect you but you won’t be safe until we take them down for good.”

“And can you? Can you really do that?”

“We’re going to try our best.”

“What if your best isn’t good enough?”

“It will be,” you said with a confidence that was certainly sure to fail should she push any harder. Thankfully, Claudia let it drop. You were glad. The truth was, if this didn’t work and the Syndicate caught up with any of you then the only way you’d escape was in a body bag. That was a fate you truly hoped to avoid but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not going to end well. Not well at all.


	52. July 7th

“Do you think we can trust her?”

You wanted to Clint’s unease but could absolutely see where he was coming from. When you’d made contact with Agent who was supposed to take Claudia to the safe house, she had passed on a direct order from Fury for you and Clint to accompany her. The Director didn’t trust her, none of the agents working the area trusted her and everyone was questioning your sanity for considering her story.

For safety, you’d been told not to return to the house. In helping Claudia disappear you had well and truly blown your cover. The Syndicate knew you were trouble and going back to your home would only have ended badly. Agents were dispatched to collect your things within two hours of your initial contact but by the time they got their the house had been completely turned over. All your technology and computers were gone. Even the safe drawers had been pried open (with that aid of some heavy duty explosives) and looted.

Clint had moped about the loss of his coffee machines (the ones here in the safe house were depressingly standard compared to the high end one you’d bought him as a gift) but you were more concerned with the hard drives which had been taken. The only saving grace was that they were geo-encrypted so without the location to break the security the information on the disks was safe. For now. 

Looking up from your laptop, which had thankfully been classified as worthless junk by the people who took everything else, you answered slowly, “I think she’s telling the truth.”

“You could be a politician giving them kind of answer.”

“I believe everything she’s told us and I think the Ivanoff intel is legit.”

Clint pulled a chair up beside you and straddled the seat, crossing his arms and resting them on the back rest. He rest his face in the crook of his elbow and sighed. “But?”

“Why does there have to be a but?”

“There’s always a but. You feel it same as me, don’t you?”

“Claudia has told us everything she knows. I do believe that. All the men that were following her were from the Syndicate, trying to keep an eye on her. To scare her into line so that she wouldn’t pass on any information. The ones who were following us too. It makes sense.”

“What about the car? Why would the Syndicate steal her car? And Elsie, too. I can see a drug-slash-weapons cartel having law enforcement in their pocket, politicians too I guess, but how did they know about Elsie? For their faults, Homeland has enough security protocols to keep their agents safe.”

You raked your hands down your face, too tired to think of any plausible answer or argument against Clint. With a shrug, you said, “I don’t know what to say, Clint. We won’t find our answers here, holed up in a decked out shed in the middle of nowhere. We’ll just have to wait for them to reveal themselves.”

Clint’s forehead crumpled as he studied your face. Shuffling the chair closer to you, the wooden legs screeching as he dragged them across the floor, he asked,“What’s wrong, Y/N? Please tell me.”

“This is all getting too much,” you whispered, flopping over so your head dropping onto his arm. He pressed a kiss to your temple and beneath the table his fingers found yours, giving a reassuring squeeze and urging you to unburden your mind.

It took multiple fault starts but once the words started flowing you couldn’t stop them. “Chances are, the Syndicate know we’re going to be there at the deal. They’ve probably moved it elsewhere by now which means we’ve lost our only chance to catch them and end this. All the agents here keep looking at me like I’m… I don’t even know what! I’m sure everyone knows about us and are judging me and I could deal with that if I didn’t know that come the end of the mission that this, that what we have, is going to end. I haven’t slept since Wednesday because they’ve had us on opposite shifts and I miss you next to me in bed.”

“Oh, darling, come here.” Clint wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you tightly. It wasn’t the most comfortable angle nor position, not with the hard wooden chair between you pressing into your chest, but it didn’t matter. While Clint had his arms around you, none of the desperate problems of the real world seemed to matter.

He didn’t miss you whine as he pulled away, the corner of his lips turning up in amusement. Clint slowly traced his fingers over your jaw, tracing every line as if he were mesmerising each tiny detail. His eyes were sad when they met yours, though, the kind of deep sadness which permeated every cell and consumed a person until they lost hope forever. Because, for all his light joking, Clint knew you were right. When the mission was over, you’d have to go separate ways. Even if you stayed in contact things would never be the same as they were now.

“I’ll swap shifts with Johnson tonight,” he murmured softly. “I love you, Y/N.”

Clint’s phone buzzed, tearing you from the moment as it jumped across the table. He flicked it open and skimmed the update. His face fell and you prepared yourself for the bad news. However instead of delivering a fatal blow to the investigation, he said, “HQ just intercepted a message between Maya and Aaron. Sounds like the Ivanoff drop is still happening.”

“It’s a trap,” you said immediately. It was obvious no matter how you framed it.

“Of course it is.”

Even though you knew the answer already, you asked, “We’re going anyway?”

“You bet.”


	53. July 10th

You felt Clint’s gaze burning into you as you stepped into your suit. The thick leather clung to your body, tight enough to form a protective layer while still providing much needed freedom to move and fight. Looking back over your shoulder as you zipped up the jacket, you asked, “See something you like, Barton?”

“Oh, plenty.” He crossed the small room and slipped his arms around your waist. Clint dotted kisses up your neck, repeatedly catching your most sensitive spots. You trembled against his body, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dug tighter into your skin. Lowering his voice, lips nuzzling against your ear, he whispered, “Just wish I could see you out of it.”

“Again? Not sure you have the stamina for another round,” you teased, twirling around in his arms so that could kiss him properly. You raked your fingers through his hair, noting that it was shorter than yesterday. While it made him look more like the badass agent everyone knew he could (on occasion) be, you lamented the messy look you’d come to know.

You stumbled backwards, tumbling ungracefully on to the bed. Clint flipped you over and pinned your wrists above your head as he kissed down your jaw and neck. The utterly ridiculous man took the zipper of your jacket between his teeth and began to pull it open when a sharp knock on your door shattered the moment. 

“The cars leave in five minutes, agents.”

“Five minutes is enough, right?” Clint asked, a lopsided grin on his face, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric.

“Give yourself a little credit.”

“Nothing like impending doom to get a guy hard.”

You shoved him away, not angry exactly but certainly not best pleased about the stark reminder of the imminent danger. “Way to ruin the mood, Clint.”

Clint caught your hand and pulled you back down to the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from your face. “Sorry, sugar.”

“It’s alright. We’re all tense and trying to find ways to distract ourselves…” You pulled the zip of your jacket back up to your neck and rested your head on his shoulder. Clint’s arm immediately snaked around your waist, pulling you in to a comforting embrace. “No matter how this goes, you know I love you, right?”

“What have I told you about being so pessimistic?”

“I’m being serious, Clint. I need you to know that.”

“I do, Y/N. And you know I love you too.” He pressed a kiss into your hairline, his lips lingering with the sad realisation this would likely be the last time you got to say that to each other. “It’s all going to be okay. Just wait and see.”

***

The usually empty army base was abuzz with movement. Drones showed trucks were emptying non-descript loads into a large carrier plane, stacking up dangerously high. Heavily armed guards patrolled a mile radius along the fence around the area. That was just what you could see; you knew there had to be more in hiding waiting for your arrival.

From the streaming surveillance, it looked more like an officially military operation with this level of organisation than what you usually expected of a black market deal. Suddenly your team of 20 agents - regardless of how well trained they were - didn’t seem nearly enough.

Each pair knew their route in to the base. You and Clint broke off from the others and slipped through the perimeter with ease; the guy had had no chance against Clint’s arrow. He went down silently and the three other guards in this section met the same quick fate.

You grabbed their weapons and walkies and moved swiftly onwards through the shadows. You were aware of every sound, every movement, but having Clint by your side grounded you and kept you from panicking like a wild animal caught in a cage.

As you neared the deserted barracks, Clint stopped you suddenly in your tracks and put a finger to his lips. You didn’t know what he’d seen or heard that you’d missed but you were glad he did. Two seconds later, half an army’s worth of armed thugs stormed out the barracks and headed straight for you.

Clint grinned at you then let loose his arrows, shooting at a speed which you struggled to keep up with even with a gun. Only a handful of the brutes got close enough to cause a problem; they came at you from behind and knocked the gun from your hand, nearly breaking your wrist in the process.

One burly man grabbed you by the neck and pulled you against his chest, crushing your windpipe. You flung your limbs around, trying in vain to break free of his grip. Clint was preoccupied with two other thugs and didn’t see you struggling.

As your vision began to blur, you had a moment of clarity and remembered the blade in your boot. You pulled the small dagger free and slashed the man’s thick muscles, warm drops of blood splashing against your cheek. He loosened his grip enough for you to tear free. Wasting no time, you plunged the dagger into his throat and looked away as he hit the ground, frantically clawing at the wound until it was too late.

You pulled the knife free of his limp body and wiped it clean on your thigh then turned to offer your assistance to your partner. However you relieved to see that he had subdued high opponents and was already rushing over to check that you were safe.

Panic in his eyes as he saw the blood on your cheek and the dark, red patch on your thigh, Clint grabbed your arms and asked, “Are you okay?”

“It’s not mine, it’s alright,” you said, already turning towards the barracks to continue with the mission. Every breath you took was like swallowing fire but you pushed through, knowing that the pain would fade eventually. “Come on. We need to get up there.”

Clint threw his bow over his shoulder and scaled the wall of the barracks with practised ease. He planted himself on the edge of the metal roof and reached down to pull you up, as if you weighed nothing. You took position on the edge of the building, taking in the view around you. Your role was mainly lookout, half because this was your operation to oversee and half because everyone knew Clint worked best from a height.

Pulling out a set of binoculars, you flicked the switch to send the live recording back to HQ and zoomed in on the plane below. There were still men loading it up with heavy duty weaponry, the kind that gave you nightmares just looking at it. If that plane was allowed to leave, thousands of lives would be lost.

“Holy shit, Clint, look,” you exclaimed, passing the binoculars over to your partner. “Aaron is down there.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Aaron stepped out of the plane and began arguing with one of the thugs charged with loading up the crates. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but Clint’s lip reading suddenly came in great use.

Not taking his eyes off the pair, he said, “The big dude spoke to Ivanoff and he’s pissed that Maya isn’t here yet. Says they didn’t agree to work with some - Oh, well, my Russian is a little rusty but he definitely doesn’t like Aaron.”

“Feeling’s mutual. Ivanoff is on base somewhere?”

“I think so. The big guy says if Maya doesn’t show in five minutes that they’re taking the goods and leaving. Well, fuck me, Aaron has balls after all.”

“What’s happening?” You asked, stealing the binoculars back. You gasped at the sight below; Aaron had pulled a gun on the man and had it pressed flush against his forehead. There was a bright flash and the larger man fell backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

Wiping his hand clean, Aaron pulled out a mobile and made a call that lasted no more than ten seconds before hanging up. He closed up the cargo hold of the plane and straightened up, not moving until the quiet rumble of an engine came into earshot.

You shoved the binoculars back at Clint and quietly checked in with your other teams as you waited nervously. They had all come into contact with hostiles but the threats had been cleared with only minor injuries sustained by any agent. Now they were just awaiting further orders.

A black car stopped on the far side of the plane and a few seconds later Maya and Carson stepped out, followed by an entire group of bodyguards that put the Russian mob to shame. The thugs you’d fought had been just that: thugs. The men protecting Maya were clearly trained and most likely ex-Marines.

“Maya’s pissed,” Clint said, repeating back as much as he could make out from the image. “She asked Aaron if the base is secure. He says… God he likes to talk doesn’t he? Long, short, he says yes. That means they don’t know we’re here, yet. They seem to think that his men - explains why they’re idiots if Aaron hired them - are capable of keeping us out. Oh, wait, Maya isn’t convinced. God, it’s like a soap opera down there.”

“Stay focused, honey,” you whispered, keeping your gaze trained on the group.

“Maya knows that something is wrong.”

“What did she say?”

Clint shook his head. “Nothing but it’s in her body language.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, a man walked over to the trio, followed by a small entourage of rough looking security. It was clear that this was Ivanoff. He was exactly what you’d been expecting: a nondescript, shady looking businessman who, unlike Aaron, actually had the power and influence to afford him such an air of confidence.

Ivanoff and Maya shook hands, a lukewarm greeting if you’d ever seen one. From Clint’s constant narration, it became clear that the reason Maya had gone ahead with the deal despite knowing that SHIELD were on to her was simply a matter of image. Ivanoff looked down on her, frequently interrupting her as they spoke, and she was simply trying to maintain control of a quickly unravelling situation.

You almost expected Ivanoff to try and make a play and just shoot them and take the weapons. Something stopped him, though. Probably Maya’s ex-Marines who had taken up a noticeably aggressive stance around the plane and all had scarily twitchy trigger fingers.

Carson pulled a large phone or maybe a small tablet from inside his jacket and handed it over to Ivanoff. They tapped away at the screen, inputting what you assumed to be biometric security clearance for a bank transfer. Clint confirmed your theory, a moment later.

He passed the binoculars over just in time for you to see the screen change, visual confirmation that a transaction had gone through and you had actual proof of the deal - as if everything else you’d seen this evening hadn’t been enough already.

“We’ve got the footage,” Clint said victoriously over the comms. “Alpha and Beta teams: wait for my signal then move it in and take them. Gamma team, prepare to pursue anyone who tries to leave the base. I have a feeling Maya won’t come easily.”

Clint slung his bow over his shoulder and let loose a trick arrow. It released an bright electrical discharge that had Carlson and Aaron writhing on the ground. On that signal, the other agents moved in, quickly disarming Ivanoff’s men and tackling the man himself to the ground. Maya’s men did not cave so easily but they were outnumbered and, with you and Clint reigning fire down from above, eventually they too were subdued.

However, in the mayhem, Maya had slipped away. You weren’t all that worried, though. You had faith that the agents on the perimeter would apprehend her soon enough. Somehow, against the odds, the mission had actually been a success.

“It actually worked. Clint, can you believe it? We actually did it!”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his nose in your hair and savouring the moment. Proud as he was, Clint wasn’t able to hide the sadness in his voice. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

A moment too late you see the movement in the shadows over his shoulder. A black figure coming at you through the dark of the night, arm stretched out in front of them in an unmistakable gesture. You clung to Clint as two bright flashes blinded your vision, a burning pain erupting in your chest where the shot hit.

You fell instantly, half hanging off the metal roof as your body went numb. The last thing you felt was Clint’s fingers squeezing yours before the starry sky above faded into blackness and everything went cold.


	54. July 17th

“Clint!”

You shot upright. The brightly lit room spun around you, whirling past your eyes like you were in free fall through the sky. A sharp pinch as you sat up alerted you to the drip inserted into your chest. You pulled it out carefully but quickly, shaking at the thought of what they’d be pumping through your veins.

For a few minutes, you laid back and waited for the world to stop moving so fast. The harsh light still burned your eyes but you were far more aware of your surroundings now. The room in which you were trapped was disturbingly normal.

There were canvases above your bed, bright, colourful modern art. The kind that a child could have painted but sold for thousands. There were curtains on the wall but a quick check proved there was no window behind them. The only light came from the bright bulbs above.

A dark wooden desk sat opposite your bed, a few blank papers and a covered tray placed atop it. At the bottom of your bed, there was an open door bathroom equipped with a toilet, sink and small shower. Lined up neatly along the sink were a few small soaps as well as a toothbrush and toothpaste - the same brand as yours.

Everyone a person might need to maintain a dignified existence while being held prisoner. It made you feel sick. 

A quick check showed the door was tightly locked from the outside and no matter where you looked you could not see the security cameras you knew had to be in place. There was nothing breakable, nothing you could potentially use as a weapon.

The strong, familiar scent of coffee filled the small room but you refused to drink it. They’d already drugged you once. You wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to do it again or maybe this time use something even worse. So, as much as it made your mouth water, and as much as your heart broke to do it, you took the steaming pot and poured the liquid down the sink.

You placed the empty pot back on the table beside the untouched plate of food. Oh, you wanted to eat it. You’d been out for almost a week, if the calendar on desk was reliable, sustained only by the questionable drip you’d pulled from your arm when you’d first woken. But now that you were awake, your stomach was knotted so tightly that it hurt.

Every thought was blurred around the edges. Your movements were sluggish and you felt incredibly light headed, the lingering effects of the drugs that had kept you under for so long keeping you placated. You knew deep down that you should just eat the food because the consequences could not be much worse than the ones you were suffering now but your stubborn streak won out.

The soft mattress sunk beneath your weight as you sat back down, steadying yourself against the wall. You stayed there, drifting in and out of consciousness, until a few hours later when a stoic looking man entered the room. He was an ordinary type of man. Short hair, wide shoulders. Strong, muscled, but nothing extraordinary. Just a normal man. He barely glanced your direction as he changed your untouched plate of food with a new meal before wordlessly turning back towards the door.

“Where am I?” You asked. You winced at the way your voice cracked, at the sharp pain of the words against your dry throat. “Who are you?”

He paused at the threshold, caught in an internal debate whether or not to answer your questions. You wondered what his orders were. Clearly the people in charge wanted you to be comfortable or they would have thrown you in a dark and dingy dungeon instead of a hotel quality room. A dangerous spark of hope flared in your chest that perhaps he’d offer you answers and you’d actually be able to work a way out of here.

That hope was premature, though.

As he glanced back over his shoulder, you caught a brief glimpse at the comm piece beneath his short brown hair. Merely repeating the message being whispered in his ear, the man said, “The food has not been tampered with. You should eat and regain your strength. Then we may talk.”

“Where is Clint?”

At the mention of your partner’s name, the man narrowed his eyes and left you alone once again.

Although it was stupid to hold true the word of your captors, you slowly crossed the room to the desk and picked at your sandwich. It was a simple ham and salad panini but you’d spent enough time with Claudia and her friends to know that the ingredients were completely fresh and of good quality to boot.

Shaking off the weirdness of this five star prison, you devoured the sandwich and even licked the crumbs from the plate. You couldn’t help yourself. Once you’d started eating you hadn’t been able to stop and you didn’t regret it at all. Already you were feeling stronger, your mind clearer.

Unfortunately with a clear mind, all of your worried came flooding back in to fill the emptiness. Naturally the fear that sat firmly in the centre of your thoughts was for Clint. You had no idea where he was being held, if he was even being held in the same place as you or not. You didn’t dare consider that they had removed him from the equation entirely. Better as you were feeling, you were not strong enough to deal with that possibility. Not at all.

So, you pushed those darkening thoughts as far from your mind as you could and kept yourself busy. With no other way to entertain yourself, you stretched out on the floor and did push ups until your arms seized up. Groaning from the effort of moving, you turned over and counted a hundred sit ups and then a hundred more.

By the time the man returned with your dinner, your muscles were trembling from the exertion. You’d pushed your body beyond its limits in an attempt to work off your nervous energy and, while you were now so tired that your worries simply drifted away, you could barely lift your arms enough to bring the forkful of food to your mouth.

The pleasant blend of spices in the curry coating your tongue, you spoke to the empty room knowing that they were watching you somehow. “If you have hurt Clint in any way, I will kill you.”

There was no reply.

When the man came to retrieve your empty plate, you smiled sweetly and said, “Pass my compliments to the chef. Best prison food I’ve ever had.”

“What is the code to the drive?” He asked bluntly.

“If I answer some questions, do I get ice-cream?”

“What is the code to the drive?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Shame, I really fancy ice-cream. Where’s Clint?”

“What is the code to your hard-drive?”

“Go to hell.”

He left without another word.


	55. July 22nd

You realised fairly quickly that they would keep feeding you whether you answered their questions or not. So, naturally, you continued to eat all the (frankly delicious) for they provided but refused to answer their inquiries until you had confirmation on Clint’s situation.

It was perhaps not the wisest decision to act so bratishly but you did so anyway. You knew the food would stop soon enough, that their patience would run dry eventually, so endeavoured to savour every bite while you still had your tongue. For if the carrot was this nice, you could only imagine how intense the stick would be.

There was no clock in your room but you’d worked out a rough schedule to keep some semblance of sanity in your comfortable prison. After breakfast, you would do your physical training. A few hundred sit ups, push ups and squats followed by a long, long period of rest and recovery quite effectively passed the time until lunch.

After your midday meal, you had a nap (still recovering from your intense exercise session) then either do more exercise or sing the entirety of a musical, all parts including every character and musical instrument, at the top of your lungs in the hope of driving crazy the poor soul tasked with watching you.

By dinner, you were exhausted so ate and then just spent the remainder of your evening staring at the blank ceiling waiting for them to turn out the lights so you might get some sleep.

Today, though, an unexpected interruption brought a stop to your usual activities. Midway through a particularly horrifying rendition of Les Mis, the door to your room swung open and a new face stepped inside. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, the kind that was deceptively simple and just screamed money. There was nothing particularly threatening about the way he looked but his presence instantly soured your good mood. 

You sat upright on your bed, resisting the urge to draw your legs against your chest and make yourself as small as possible. Hands resting in your lap, you forced a calmness into your voice and a hardness in your eyes as you stared him down. “You aren’t Maya.”

“How observant of you. Did you really believe that _she_ was the one closing in on you? I thought you were smarter than that, Y/N.”

“So you’re the one who’s been talking in their ears?” you asked, ignoring the jibe. 

“Yes,” he answered plainly, his lip twitching upwards at your attempt to project an air of control. You both knew that he was in charge here and was well within his power to do whatever the hell he wanted. You were basically back to full health but would lose in seconds if you went against his security, who hovered menacingly in the doorway. They weren’t armed but that only proved to show their true strength. They’d take you down in an instant. “I’m Roscoe.”

He searched your face for any sign of a reaction, for some kind of recognition. You couldn’t say what he saw, just hoped your blank expression hid the mess of emotions bubbling up in your chest. Roscoe then pulled the chair from under your desk and sat opposite you, all too relaxed. “Y/N, we’ve been nothing but patient with you. The least you could do is talk to me.”

“Okay,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Let’s talk about Clint. Where is he?”

“He’s nearby. Now, I answered your question so why not return the favour.” You nodded reluctantly, agreeing even though you had no intention of co-operating with this man. He seemed to sense that too but ploughed on with his question nonetheless. “The drives from your house are geo-encrypted.”

“Yes, they are,” you replied, seeing no harm in confirming what they already knew. “Is Clint okay?”

“That was no my question but in a show of good faith I shall answer yours: your lover is still alive, yes. Will you give me the location to unlock the drive?”

“No.”

“I will get the decryption key, Y/N. If you cooperate, you and your lover may leave. I’ll even help you to disappear.”

You scoffed at the thought. Roscoe’s idea of disappearing was burying bodies in a place where they’d never be found. If entirely possible, that was a fate you hoped to avoid. “And if I don’t cooperate?”

“You know more than anyone what a person is willing to do to get what they want.”

“I will not help you, Roscoe. I won’t.”

“That is a mistake, Y/N.”

“Then it’s mine to make.”

Roscoe hummed in something almost like agreement. “Well, why don’t you take some time to mull things over. We’re all friends here and I don’t want to be forced to take drastic action. Please, consider your decision carefully. You wouldn’t want us to hurt Clint, would you?”

“Piss off.”

“Charming as ever. It’s been a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, Y/N.” Roscoe rose from the chair and strode towards the door. You wanted to spit in his direction, to tell him where he could shove his ‘kind’ offer and turn your back to him but there was an inescapable air to him. You felt trapped by his commanding presence, backed into a corner - metaphorically and physically - by the weight of his threat.

You knew couldn’t give away the key to the hard drive but you had to protect Clint from this man. You had no idea how to do both.

Roscoe paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder with a smirk as if he’d felt your panic and indecision spiking. All too kindly, he said, “I believe it’s seafood risotto tonight. Chef’s speciality.”

“Hope you don’t choke on it,” you replied quietly, the mere thought of eating making you feel sick.

“Likewise. Do remember, Agent, we are on the same side here. I do not wish to hurt you but if you give me no choice then I will make the last days of your life most uncomfortable. Are we clear?”

You nodded, your gaze fixed firmly on the ground. “Crystal.”


	56. July 25th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Injury and blood

“Have you thought about my offer?”

You glanced up from the origami dinosaur you’d been making (which sadly looked more like an aeroplane with legs since you could remember all the steps, just not quite in the right order) and said simply, “Yes.”

“What is your decision?”

Setting the dinosaur/aeroplane down, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed and rested your elbows on your knees. Leaning forward, projecting a bravery which had long since evaporated, you raised an eyebrow as if the answer was obvious. “Let Clint go.”

“In return for what?” Roscoe asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“My cooperation.”

“Now you see, Y/N, that is just not possible.”

“Then I will not help you decrypt my files. You know no one but me can get into them. Especially not when your technical team are as woeful as they are.”

It was a shaky claim and you both knew it. Roscoe took no time in capitalising on your doubt, a first glance at his true colours shining through. Whatever patience he had for you was quickly wearing thin now and you were running on borrowed time, a fact he was keen to remind you of. “They’ll get into it eventually, even without your help. It would just be better for everyone involved if you gave us the code before we have to beat it from your pretty little mouth.”

You swallowed deeply, well aware of the dangerous glint in Roscoe’s guards’ eyes. They were as imposing as ever, completely blocking the doorway, but today they seemed to be even larger than before. They both wore stoic expressions but you could see it written plain as day on their faces that they were finally about to get the one thing they desired most.

Tearing your gaze from them, you said to Roscoe, “I’ve named my price.”

“You did but what is to say that once I’ve let him leave that you will actually cooperate? Your word is worth very little here now. No, I think I’ll keep him right here where we can use him to properly motivate you into action.”

“If you touch him -“

“What do you think my men have been doing all this time?” Roscoe asked, interrupting your pathetic threat. “While you’ve been enjoy our hospitality, Clint has been paying the price for your obstinance. He really is of little use to me. The only reason he is still alive is as a token of my good will to you. However, if we continue down this path, it will bring me much pleasure to see you watch him die.”

You lunged at Roscoe, wrapping your hands around his neck as you tumbled to the ground. Before you had even the slightest pleasure of feeling him gasping for breath beneath your fingers, he flipped you off him and slammed your skull against the floor as if you were nothing more than an irritating fly. Stars erupted across your vision, the shock of the impact winding you.

A gut wrenching scream of pain filled the room, clawing from your throat as one of Roscoe’s men stamped down on the back of your knee. The burst of pain was so intense that your mind just shut down, retreating into itself so that you didn’t have to suffer so hard.

Your lack of response only seemed to spur the men on further. Fat, dirty footprints covered your body as they trod you into the carpet, the light fabric slowly darkening as your blood seeped out across the floor. The thick red liquid pooled around your body, warm and sticky on your exposed skin.

They hauled you from the ground and dragged you in front of Roscoe. He dug his fingers into your throat, squeezing the air from your burning lungs until you forced your eyes open, pleading tears streaming down your bloody cheeks. The struggle for air tore you from the safe space in your mind and all the pain hit you like a tidal wave.

It was too much to bear. Your face was swollen, bashed and bruised almost beyond recognition. Blood dripped from the corner of your mouth where your teeth had cut deeply into your bottom lip. Every inch of your body was in pain, a fact which seemed to bring the men around you a terrifying amount of joy.

In all too calm a voice, Roscoe said, “I gave you the chance to avoid all of this, Y/N. You know where to take her.”

You were dragged down a hallway, your feet catching on every step, bending backwards in the most unnatural angles. Although you couldn’t open your eyes to check, you could feel the mocking gazes of those you were paraded past, laughing at your sorry state. There was no pity, no compassion here.

Even in your right state of mind you would not have been able to follow the complex path you took through the building. All you knew was that you were going deeper into the lower levels because the air began to grow stale. It clung to your skin, felt heavy in your lungs.

A door clicked open and you were tossed through, hitting the cold, hard concrete floor with a thud. You felt something brush against your cheek and scrambled backwards until your back was pressed against the wall. It did nothing to alleviate the fear bubbling up in your chest. Your eyes were swollen shut, you couldn’t move to defend yourself, but the solidity of the rough bricks behind you gave you some false sense of security if only for a moment.

“It’s me, Y/N. It’s Clint. Please open your eyes, sugar.”

“Hurts…”

“I know, darling. Just try and keep your open eyes for me, alright? Don’t want you drifting off somewhere I can’t follow.” Clint pressed the lightest kiss to your temple, finding the one spot which was neither cut nor bruised. You felt a wet drop land on your hand, his silent tears a testament to how scared of losing you he was. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you, too,” you mouthed back, no sound leaving your lips.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Stay with me. Just need a few things.” You heard him wipe his nose on his sleeve as he scurried around the room for supplies to help clean you up. Under his breath, he repeated a quiet prayer over and over, asking a god he didn’t believe in to keep you with him.

By the time he crouched back down beside you, you had managed to force open your eyes. The first thing you saw the look of devastating pain on Clint’s face. Not from his own injuries - he was too strong for that - but from your own. You could only imagine how you looked to make him so worried.

He dipped a thin cloth into a bowl of freezing water and wrung it out so that it wasn’t dripping over you. So gently that he barely even touched you, Clint worked his way over your injuries to wipe away the worst of the blood and dirt. Every now and then you caught him clutching his fist in anger towards the brutes who had done this to you, taking out his aggression on the damp rag.

Once Clint had cleaned you up, he gently peeled your t-shirt from your skin and grimaced at the sight. Your skin was every colour of the rainbow in cuts and bruises. You looked more like a piece of abstract art than a human being.

“This is gonna hurt, Y/N, but I have to see what damage they did.”

“S’ok. Just do it,” you mumbled, too tired to fight him.

Clint kissed your forehead and said, “I know everything hurts, sweetheart, but I want you to try and differentiate the pain.”

“Big word, I’m impressed.”

“If you didn’t look like death itself I would totally kick your ass for that. One is stepping on lego. Ten is being beaten to a pulp by Hulk while walking over knives with your skin on fire. Okay? ” When you didn’t even crack a smile at his lame attempt at a joke, Clint softly brushed his fingers over your knuckles and sighed. “I’m sorry about this, sugar. It’s gonna suck.”

You just nodded at let the examination proceed. Clint worked his way methodically down your body, applying the same level pressure to every spot and carefully gauging your reaction. Any other time you would have been impressed by how focused he was, by the tight control he had on his emotions, but you knew deep down that this was just for your benefit. It was a distraction - albeit a necessary task - to stop him from absolutely raging against the men who had done this to you.

He eventually concluded that none of your internal organs had been damaged and the worst of your injuries was an aggregation of your previously fractured ribs and a broken knee. You were lucky, though. Your kneecap hadn’t been dislodged; the brutes had known exactly how to hurt you without doing any permanent damage.

Lifting you up with ease, Clint carried you over to the bed (far less comfortable than the one on which you’d spent the past few days) and laid down beside you. Face to face, he was unable to hide the tears which trickled from his bloodshot eyes.

You slowly lifted your hand to his cheek and brought him in for a soft, gentle kiss. Every movement set your body alight with a burning pain but his lips on yours distracted you for a few brief moments. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” Clint snapped, immediately regretting his sharp tone. Barely a whisper, his voice wobbling as he spoke, he repeated, “Please, don’t say that. This is not your fault.

“But it is all my fault… I’m so sorry.”

Clint shuffled over, closing the non existent gap between you. He wrapped his arms around you and cradled you against his chest, petting your hair and murmuring reassuring nothings as your tears soaked his t-shirt. “We’ll get out of this, Y/N. I promise.”

You wished you could believe him.


	57. July 27th

His screams blared from hidden speakers, the cries of your name shattering your heart into a million pieces. Every punch echoed around the room. Every snap of bone, each spit of blood. All the ragged breaths and silent prayers. This was your torture as much as it was Clint’s.

It didn’t matter how you tried to block out the noise, it never worked. They just turned the sound up louder and louder until it split your skull in two. The worst part was that you knew it was all your fault. Every moment you held out on giving them the information they desired was another second that Clint had to suffer your disobedience.

All the while you heard Roscoe’s voice in the background, calm and collected as ever as he watched his men beat Clint to within an inch of his life. He continued to ask questions about the drive, questions Clint had no way of answering. He demanded codes which only you knew and punished your partner for his ignorance.

When they finally tossed him back in your cell, you saw Roscoe hovering in the hallway. He watched you carefully, never taking his eyes of you as you rushed over to help your partner sit up. Before he turned to leave, Roscoe silently raised an eyebrow, his message clear. _You did this. It’s your fault._

The door to your cell slammed shut and the sudden silence was eerily uncomfortable. As such, you talked to yourself, to Clint, to whoever was listening, as you filled the bowl with water and tore new strips of fabric from the thin blanket on the bed to clean his wounds.

Clint was completely unresponsive and you soon realised why. One of his hearing aids was in pieces, shattered beyond belief, the fragments of plastic and wire hanging free or cutting into his skin. Clint bolted away when you moved to pull them free but he relaxed when he saw your face, settling back down and closing his eyes as you wiped away the blood in his ear.

You checked the other, relieved to see that it was still partially held together. However it was clearly damaged and currently not working. Crouching down directly in front of Clint, you gently cupped his face and lifted his chin so that he was looking at you square on.

For the first time he seemed to truly come back to himself. His blank expression turned to one of panic as he said, “I can’t hear anything, Y/N.”

“Your aids are damaged, Clint.”

You signed slowly, taking extra care to make sure your hand movements were understandable amid the trembling of your fingers. Whether you were shaking in anger for what they had done to Clint or fear for what else they might do, you didn’t know. All you knew is that you would kill Roscoe for this.

“I can’t hear anything,” he repeated. You reached for his hands and held them tightly in a desperate attempt to help ground him. It seemed to work. Clint’s breathing slowed a little, gradually coming in line with your own. You must have looked quite a pair with your broken ribs, each struggling to take a truly deep breath, but the focus really did help soothe him.

Meeting your eyes, Clint was collected enough to explain, “I’m not totally deaf, Y/N. I mean I’m pretty fucked up but I can hear a little. But now… this is different. I can’t… I can’t hear anything. Everything feels weird and I can’t…”

“Hey, hey. Breathe, Clint. Calm down. It’s gonna be alright.” You pulled him into your arms, your heart breaking as he clung to you like a scared child. Running your hands through his knotted hair, you pressed a kiss to his cheek and breathed, “I’m gonna make it alright. Whatever it takes.”


	58. July 29th

They came for you while Clint was sleeping.

You followed the guards willingly (if slowly, due to your broken knee) in the hope that it would save your partner from any further pain. It had taken you too long to learn the lesson that disobedience meant watching the person you loved get hurt but you understood now. You’d do whatever you had to in order to protect Clint from these heartless men.

You were sat down in front of a computer terminal in an empty room. Empty save for the four armed guards posted at equal distances around the wall. Their stares burned through you as you waited for your instructions, each of them nearly begging for you to try something just so that they could hurt you again.

It wasn’t long before Roscoe appeared.

“Don’t you have other places to be?” You asked, already sick of his smug face.

“And miss the glorious moment you finally decrypt my hard drive?” He perched himself on the edge of the desk, towering above you. “Never.”

You couldn’t help but notice he was wearing a new suit. The same sleek style as before but today he’d really dressed up: his tie was a deep purple silk, gold cufflinks adorned his shirt and a Rolex protruded proudly from beneath the edge of his dark jacket. He was treating this as if it were a kind of celebration. You almost wondered if there was a photographer hiding nearby to capture the moment you finally gave in. 

Stubbornness was a difficult trait to shake, though. Without so much as a thought to the consequences, you snapped back, “My hard drive.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s mine. You stole it from me.”

“And what of the information on it? You stole that,” Roscoe leered. “Therefore it is not yours to covet so dearly. Now open the drive.”

“Clint needs medical attention.”

Roscoe rolled his eyes so hard it must have physically hurt. “Unlock the drive then I shall get him some.”

“Help him first.”

“You really don’t seem to understand that you are not in charge here, Y/N. You are expendable and the only reason you are still alive is because I am grateful you brought me so much information. However, that gratitude only extends so far. If you fail to cooperate now then you leave me no choice but to turn my back and let my team do what they do best.”

“Let him see a doctor and I will give you your fucking decryption key.”

For a brief moment Roscoe’s gaze shifted towards one of his men in the doorway, conveying a silent message. “Send Andrew.”

A weight on your chest lifted knowing that Clint would be okay. That was all that mattered. Whatever the consequences, you could deal with them so long as he was alright.

The computer screen in front of you flickered to life and the live feed from your cell appeared. You watched carefully as the door opened but, instead of a doctor, it was one of Roscoe’s thugs who stormed in. He grabbed Clint by the throat and threw him against the wall, the bright red streak on the bricks clear to see.

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut and turned your face from the screen. You couldn’t watch. Even without the sound, you could hear Clint’s whimpers as the fight was beaten out of him.

Roscoe had other plans, though. He grabbed your face, dug his fingers into your skin, and forced you to watch the feed. A horrible shiver ran down your spine as his lips brushed against your ear, his snake like whisper chilling you to your core. “You know how to make it stop, Y/N.”

You suddenly blurted out a long string of numbers, the location of the ice-cream parlour you and Clint had so often frequented, unable to ignore the guilt burning in your chest. You’d let everyone in SHIELD down but it didn’t really matter because no amount of data was worth Clint’s life. “Take it there. It will open.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He released his grip and you slumped into your chair, sinking into the seat in a desperate attempt to get as far from the man as humanly possible. However, you feared even if a portal appeared beneath you and took you straight to Hell that you wouldn’t be far enough away from him.

Turning towards the door, Roscoe glanced back and flashed a twisted smile. “Enjoy the rest of the show.”

You didn’t make it further than five steps before the guards caught you. It took two of them to properly restrain you, the hatred in your veins edging you towards feral as you fought back. The unmistakable cold edge of a knife against your throat, you stilled and hissed, “Roscoe, you bastard. You said you’d make them stop!”

He sent you a look which screamed, _do you think I’m stupid?_ Straightening his tie, Roscoe said calmly, “When the drive has been unlocked, I will call him off. Until then, you can stay right here and learn the consequences of your actions. Andrew can keep this up for hours. I wonder, can your Clint hold on as long?”


	59. July 30th

You were changing Clint’s bandages when they came in.

You’d given them the location at which they could decrypt the hard drive so Roscoe had, reluctantly, kept his bargain and gotten Clint a doctor (of questionable repute) to check him over. His injuries were bad, really bad, but nothing life threatening. So, he’d produced replacement hearing aids, a small box of bandages and an even smaller tub of antibacterial cream for the wounds and left you to do the rest of the work.

However, you could tell in their faces that your backup plan had come into play. You weren’t stupid. In the unlikely chance that someone managed to unlock the drive, you had buried a virus deep in the terabytes of data which would re-encrypt the files after a random period of time unless you killed it. Of course, they hadn’t known to do that so were once again without access.

Now you were going to pay for making a fool of Roscoe.

Even after everything that Clint had suffered, he still put himself between you and the guards. They grabbed him and dragged him away, silently smug that he put up no fight. He was exhausted but that wasn’t why he went willingly. He knew that if he tried to fight them that you would pay the price and that was something he couldn’t face.

You buried your face in your hands as they vanished around the corner, waiting for the door to shut. When after a few seconds you still hadn’t heard the familiar clicking of the lock, you glanced up to see Roscoe hovering against the wall.

“What?” You asked, venom dripping from your voice.

“You brought this upon yourself, Y/N. It’s time to pay for your secrets and your mistakes. Enough is enough and I will take this no longer.”

It took you a moment but when realised what he was saying you all but threw yourself at his feet. Tears in your eyes, you begged, “Please don’t. I can’t… Without Clint, I can’t…”

“You should have thought about that before you lied. This is all on you.”

Roscoe tensed, expecting some kind of retaliation but none came. You just stared blankly at the wall, lost in a dark spiral as you considered all the terrible decisions which had brought you to this exact point. Every choice you’d made had set a stone on the path which you were now bound to walk to its terrible end.

You were walking to a cliff edge with no way to turn back. Any second now the road would fall from beneath your feet, sending you plummeting into the dark, raging sea below. The life you had built for yourself was over and the worst part was that you had always known this would happen. You’d fallen in love with Clint knowing that this would be how it ended. You were a fool for ever hoping otherwise.

It was many hours later when the door to your cell creaked open and Clint walked in.

He sat on the edge of the bed in silence as you checked him over. Not a new injury in sight which meant only one thing: Roscoe had actually done it. He’d told him everything.

Through the shadows, Clint looked you in the eye and asked, “Is it true?”

“I can… Clint, it’s not what it…”

“Is it true?” He didn’t shout but that made it all the more worse.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Everything Roscoe told you about me is true. But I didn’t know… I didn’t want to…”

Clint shoved you away and turned so that he was sat with his back to you. You disgusted him so much that he couldn’t even bare to look at you and that broke your heart. “Rot in Hell, Y/N.”


	60. August 1st

“Clint, please talk to me.”

Your plea was, once again, met with a blank expression. He hadn’t said a word to you since the night Roscoe told him everything. He ate in silence. He’d stopped sharing the bed and slept on the floor - you’d offered, practically begged, to swap but he ignored you entirely. Clint wouldn’t even look in your direction.

You’d lost him forever but you had to make him understand.

You sat down in front of him, crossing your legs and signing as you spoke. You weren’t sure whether he’d turned his hearing aids off or was just pointedly ignoring every word you said so decided to sign anyway. “Please let me explain myself, Clint. Just listen. Please, you have to understand I -“

“No, I don’t, Y/N.” He caught your wrist and squeezed it tightly, a rare demonstration of his exceptional strength. Even beaten and broken as he was, Clint was still ten times stronger than you were and for the first time in your entire relationship he wasn’t holding back that power. Honestly, it terrified you.

Your pulse was racing beneath his fingers, beating hard beneath your battered skin. You wouldn’t have blamed Clint if he wanted to hurt you after what you’d done. No one hated you more than yourself but he certainly came close. If he tried to hit you then you’d let him. It was no less than you deserved.

But Clint was better than that.

All that anger and rage inside of him did nothing to change the fact that he was, at heart, a genuinely decent person. Regardless of what you’d done, he would never take it out on you like that. You wished he would, though. His silence, his judgement, his hatred was so much worse than any physical injury could ever be.

Releasing your wrist, Clint said levely, “You want to talk to make this easier on yourself. You’re pretending that it’s going to help me but it won’t. I just want you to leave me alone.”

“Clint, please…”

Nothing you said could pull him from his silence. It hung heavily over you for the rest of the day, a crushing, inescapable weight on your chest. You curled up in the corner of the room and stared at the door, unable to look at the man whose heart you’d broken. Tears flowed freely down your cheek at what you’d lost; you’d gambled with your life and were now paying the price.

By the time dinner came, despite it being almost 24 hours since your last meal, you couldn’t eat. You picked at the bread roll, tearing holes in the crust then shoving the pieces back into the whole, unable to stomach anything.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you been working for Roscoe?”

You set the bread roll on the ground and turned to face Clint, drawing on every ounce of strength you possessed to meet his blank, uncaring stare. “Three years,” you answered quietly. “But after our holiday… After we… When things changed between us, I couldn’t do it anymore. I told him I wouldn’t and that’s why he sent people after me in New York. To remind me of my place. But I didn’t, after that, I swear… I quit because I love you Clint.”

“Stop. Just don’t.” Clint closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his broken nose and sighed. “Who are they?”

“Department Thirty-one. They work within the government, police force, intelligence agencies and criminal world.”

“Why?”

“It was set up to keep tabs on everyone. Everything. To monitor and be an external, impartial set of eyes so that if any group of people overstepped the boundaries there would be someone there to stop them. Society works best when people have enemies to fight and Thirty-One work to check the balance never tips one way or the other.” You didn’t have to see his expression to feel the disdain radiating off of him. “They’re not like HYDRA, Clint. They just monitor. They don’t influence.”

“You call this _just monitoring_?” Clint asked. “What do you think they do with all this information, Y/N? Really? You can’t think they just let it sit there, locked up safely. You know Roscoe pretty well, apparently. You don’t believe that he is the kind of person who wouldn’t use any means necessary to get power and control over others.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“No, because you already knew it was a bad thing they’re doing here.” When you didn’t reply, he pressed on with his questions instead. “What was your mission?”

“They wanted information on the Syndicate and SHIELD. I shared our files and gave them a back door into the servers.”

“ _You_ were the mole?”

“For a little while.”

“Three years isn’t a little while.”

“There are others. I’m not the only one working for someone else inside SHIELD.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Clint huffed. “Why? Why did you do this?”

“I’m not like you, Clint. I had to work my way up through the ranks and for years I was passed over by other people with less experience but the right connections. I wanted to do something worthwhile. Something more than just standing on a gate and getting shot at by the bad guys.

“Roscoe found me and offered me everything I wanted. He said he’d get me out in the field heading my own mission if I helped him. It was only a few files every month. All low level information. There’s only so much I could get into without alerting someone to what I was doing.”

“You crossed SHIELD for your own gain?”

“It wasn’t personal. It never was. I want SHIELD to be strong, to succeed in its mission and I wanted to be a part of that. Everyone is selfish. I was doing what was best for myself, sure, but Roscoe assured me that I was helping people.”

Clint scoffed at the idea of ever trusting that pig of a man. Before now, though, you’d never met him. You’d only ever communicated through secure back channels and anonymous texts on burner phones. There was no way you could have known what sort of monster you were really dealing with.

Shaking your head, you said, “Judge me all you want. I was a different person back then. I was still reeling over my hearing and being locked at level 4. I couldn’t see any other way to move forward. But things have changed since then. It’s different now.”

“Yeah. They certainly have changed, haven’t they?”

“I do love you, Clint. That was never a lie.”

“I know,” he said, smiling bitterly. “That’s what makes it so much worse.”


	61. August 3rd

Pain burst across your knuckles as your fist connected with Roscoe’s jaw but you didn’t care. For one, you had become so accustomed to the continuous pain that a little more barely registered now. For another, you had been dreaming of punching the knowing smirk from that weasel’s face for days weeks and the satisfaction of finally going through with it far outweighed the sharp bite in your hand.

Roscoe’s guards lunged forward to restrain you but he stopped them with a simple wave of his hand. Dabbing his bloody nose with a dark handkerchief, his focus hung over your shoulder towards where Clint was intently studying the small cracks in the concrete walls and that infuriating smile returned. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Shut up, Roscoe.”

It took every ounce of willpower not to turn around to look at Clint. If you did for so much as a moment, your carefully built walls would come crumbling down and all the emotions you’d blocked away after your last talk would come flooding out. The little strength you clung to would fail and the dark shadows in your heart and soul would consume you. It was better to embrace the cold emptiness than face your regret and guilt for one second.

Forcing yourself to take a breath, you asked coldly, “Why are you here? You know that I won’t give you the decryption code.”

“Hmm. We’ll see about that. Come with me.”

You followed him out the cell, risking your heart to steal a glance at Clint before catching up with Roscoe. You were led through the base, away from the usual places his guards chose to beat you to a pulp, and into a fancy private dining room. The rich smell of garlic and fresh herbs in the air had your mouth watering and stomach rumbling embarrassingly loud.

For the past week you’d have nothing but the bare minimum to keep you alive. This simple spread of pasta and salad seemed like a banquet fit for kings compared to slightly stale bread rolls.

Roscoe had already taken his seat and motioned for you to take the one opposite him. “Help yourself, Y/N. We’re all friends here.”

You laughed harshly at that but gravitated towards the table nonetheless. Once you’d taken your first small bite, you couldn’t stop yourself from eating more. The rich flavours danced on your tongue, taking you away from this underground Hell to a happier time.

In your minds eye, the dining room shifted to the kitchen where you and Clint had eaten so many meals together. The life you’d made flashed before your eyes in a series of snapshots: all the laughs and smiles you’d shared there, mostly in the name of Clint’s terrible attempts at cooking; memories of his soft lips on yours, his hands on your waist, holding you close; wordless declarations of love in the form of the smallest actions, from the first time he’d gotten your coffee right to the very last time he’d burned himself getting it wrong.

Suddenly you weren’t so hungry anymore.

Pushing the plate away, you said, “I take it you’re going to offer me some kind of deal.”

“SHIELD won’t take you back after they find out what you’ve done. Barton will hunt you down if you run. We are your only chance at freedom.” You didn’t respond so he kept talking. “I can make your life very comfortable here. I can also make it a living hell if you give me reason to.”

“Can’t get much worse,” you grumbled.

Pointedly ignoring that, Roscoe continued, well aware that every word was like a dagger into your heart. “You have lost the man you love. You have no reason to keep lying and protecting him now. What do you really want, Y/N? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a prison or would you rather do something to help the people you swore to protect?”

“Will you let him leave if I stay?”

“Your freedom is in the balance and you’d still risk it for a man who hates you?”

“Answer my question.”

“If you willingly stay and actually assist us then yes. Barton may leave once you’ve earned his freedom.”

It was about as vague as a deal could get but you knew your position was tenuous at best. While it pained you to admit it, Roscoe was right. Your old life was over. It was time to move forward and make do with a bad situation. You had the chance to do something worthwhile, to make amends. Maybe one day Clint would understand why it had to be this way.

“Fine. I accept.”

Lifting his glass, Roscoe said, “Welcome back to Department Thirty-one, Y/N. I’m sure we’ll do great things together.”


	62. August 5th

You’d given up hope that Clint would ever talk to you again so when he woke you in the middle of the night, climbing onto the bed and invading your bubble of self loathing, you were understandably surprised. It was such a natural feeling, him sliding up next to you, that for a moment you forgot all the reasons not to and instinctively leant forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Only when he stiffened did you realise what you’d done. The gaping hole in your heart grew even wider, tearing you apart from the inside until you could barely breathe. Unable to meet his gaze, barely able to for them words, you whispered, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why haven’t they moved you to another room?” Clint asked, opting to completely ignore the kiss.

“Roscoe doesn’t trust me. He’s keeping me here, with you, until he knows for sure that I’m committed to staying.”

“Why in here, though?”

“Because he know it hurts. So long as you’re at risk, he knows I’ll do whatever he asks.” You forced a smile but it wavered, your pain reflected in Clint’s intense blue eyes. “I’m working on changing that, though.”

Clint frowned, not catching your meaning. “What have you got planned?”

As pointless an exercise as it may have seemed, the cameras all being hidden as they were, you still found yourself checking the corners of the room to make sure you weren’t being watched. After hours of watching Clint’s beatings, you had a fairly decent idea of where the cameras were located and had noticed the occasional red dot in the ceiling, denoting they were live.

Tonight, only one was red and you shifted slightly so that you were out its direct line of sight. Admittedly it was the middle of the night and the chances of anyone still being awake to watch the cell feed was low but you couldn’t help it. If they knew what you were planning it would never work.

“I’m getting you out, obviously. They watch me all the time. I’m having trouble designing a message for SHIELD but I’m almost there. It’ll take a few more days.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“To escape.”

“Why? I know about Roscoe’s deal. They showed me the footage of your meals together while you were out playing master hacker.”

A lot of other footage too, you suspected, judging by the way he still found it difficult to hold your gaze. While you’d never intentionally hurt someone to protect your secret allegiance to Department 31, there had been times when you had had no other choice. Out of context, you could only imagine how those videos made you look.

“I’m getting you out whatever it costs.”

“I am not worth SHIELD, Y/N!” He hissed.

“You are to me!” Lowering your voice, you stretched out your hand to find his but stopped at the last moment. “They will kill you, Clint. Roscoe has no intention of letting you leave. I am doing everything in my power to save your life. And I know what you think of me but I’m not risking SHIELD. I will have caught their attention long before I get any useful information.”

“Whose attention?”

“The Zephyr’s. Agent Johnson runs missions now but I knew her before. Her system is incredibly well designed and with the right codes you can set off all sorts of alarms.”

“And you have these codes?”

“Phil gave me a set for emergencies.” A wave of guilt flushed through you when you thought of Coulson. He’d been on your side since long before you joined forces with Department 31 and you knew he’d be so disappointed, so betrayed, by your actions. The worst thing was that he would inevitably forgive you for everything; you didn’t deserve his friendship at all.

Pulling you from the dark thoughts in your mind, Clint asked, “Then what?”

“They’ll be able to trace back our location and then they come get us. You go with SHIELD and I turn myself back in.”

“I know he likes you, Y/N, but we are hardly worth the attention of Phil and his… Wait. Turn yourself in? What do you mean turn yourself in?”

“If I turn myself in, I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison. If I try to run, I’ve upset enough people now that I won’t make it past Christmas. Prison, even a SHIELD one, is better than dying.”

Clint shook his head adamantly. He gripped your arm tightly, two seconds from literally attempting to shake some sense into you. “I won’t let you rot in prison, Y/N.”

“SHIELD facilities are nice enough. Plus, it’s not exactly your decision to make, Clint.”

“Surely I have some say in what happens to the woman I love?”

“It’s my life, Clint. I made mistakes and I have to… You love me?”

“Of course I do.” He traced his fingers softly over your jaw, across your lips, the light touch making you tremble. It was so familiar. It felt so right. Clint thought so too. He savoured the feel of your soft skin, your sharp breath as he brushed his fingers down your neck. Your lips parted and his name fell from them like a prayer.

Something hardened in his eyes when you lifted your hand to his cheek and traced one of the many cuts on his face. Pulling back slightly, he whispered as if the words hurt to voice. “I hate you for it, too. I will never be able to trust you, Y/N, but I will always love you.”

You leant in for a kiss but he turned away from you completely, the rejection shattering what was left of your heart. Rolling over, you looked up at the ceiling and whispered, “I really am sorry, Clint. I wish it had never been this way.”

“I know. How long until the Zephyr gets your message?”

“A few days. It’s going to take time to cover my tracks so Roscoe doesn’t see what I’m doing. He’s occupied now with the information on the hard drive but soon enough he’ll start taking more of an interest in what I’m doing. I’d say end of the week tops. Then we’ll be free and you never have to see me again. If that’s what you want…”

His silence spoke louder than any words ever could.


	63. August 9th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, injury, gun shot, death

Coulson and his team were not ones for subtlety.

Daisy blasted her way through the bunker, destroying basically everything in sight. There wasn’t a door strong enough to hold her back and she cleared the path ahead effortlessly. May and Elena dealt with Roscoe’s security and armed guards that were stupid enough to fight back while Mac and Phil took point on finding you and Clint.

They worked quickly (but not quietly) through the base and found your cell within ten minutes of breaking the perimeter. The only problem was that by the time they got there, you and Clint were gone.

Roscoe had seen the Quinjet coming a mile off. He and his most trusted man had sounded a silent alarm and come straight for you. The door flung open and Roscoe grabbed you by the throat, tossing you against the wall. Tears blurred your eyes, the sudden impact causing a sharp ringing in your ears.

Clint dived forward to protect you but the brick shithouse of a man grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back to keep him restrained. Not that that was enough to stop your partner, though. Clint crouched down and flung the man over his head in a move Black Widow would have been proud of but sadly it made little difference. The guard pulled a knife from his belt and pressed it against Clint’s neck, the sharp metal edge drawing blood until he finally stopped fighting.

You didn’t see what else happened to Clint for Roscoe leant forward and completely blocked your vision. His breath was hot and claggy on your skin and sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to turn away from him but he tightened his grip and forced you to meet his gaze.

“I gave you every chance to return to the fold, to live a life outside of jail, and this is how you repay me? After everything I’ve done for you.” Roscoe squeezed your throat so tightly that stars began to fill your eyes. Your lungs burnt as you fought for breath, panic setting in as you realised he was actually going to kill you. “You are going to pay for this.”

He released his grip and you hit the floor with a crash, a sickening crack echoing as your already broken knee bent out at a completely unnatural angle. When you opened your eyes, blinking a few times to bring the world back into focus, he had a gun pointed at your face. “Get up. Move.”

You were forced up a hidden staircase (half dragged by the arm by Roscoe, who kept the gun pressed to your back the entire time) and eventually came out on the roof of the building. The bright afternoon sun was a stark contrast to the dim, flickering light from below ground and only added to your growing headache.

In the distance you could see where the Quinjet had landed near the base; even though it was cloaked, the plane shape hole in the trees was a bit of a give away. You should have felt relieved to know that Phil and his team were working their way through the defences - you could feel the building shaking as Daisy destabilised it beneath your feet - but they were too late.

“Move,” Roscoe ordered, gesturing to the edge of the roof. Your hesitation to obey cost you. He emptied a round straight into your side at point blank range then shoved you away, grumbling about how you’d gone and ruined his suit.

Clint tore from the other man’s arms and just caught you before you fell. He put pressure on your side in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay, Y/N. Stay with me.”

You buried your head in his chest, clinging to him for dear life. You had never felt a pain like this, it was completely indescribable. Tears rolled freely down your cheek as Clint held you tightly in his arms, the fear rising so rapidly that you thought you would explode. This couldn’t be how it ended. You didn’t want to die like this.

“I’m here, sugar. Just look at me, alright? Hold on to me, honey, it’s going to be okay.”

He kept talking but you couldn’t hear him. Roscoe took a step forward and pointed the gun at you. There was a flash from the muzzle and Clint instinctively turned his body to shield you. A long second passed and a pair of hands slipped under your body, lifting you up. You fought it, clinging to Clint as you fought the hands trying to pull you away. “No… No, Clint…”

“Hey, I’m here,” Clint said softly, brushing the hair from your face. He took your hand only to realise that he was covered in blood and dirt. He tried to pull away to wipe himself clean but you refused to let him go. You couldn’t.

Clint pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured, “It’s only Coulson. Come on, Y/N, stay with us. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

The world spun as Mac - by far the strongest, and least injured, of the team - carried you to the Quinjet. You drifted in and out of consciousness but Clint remained a constant presence at your side, either physically or in your dreams. He never left you alone, just as he’d sworn.

It was a few hours later when you up in the Zephyr’s medical bay. Clint was unconscious on a bed beside you, evidence of his injuries clear to see. At some point he’d had a shower, cleaning away all the dust and dirt and blood from his skin, which only highlighted the thick cover of cuts and bruises on his skin.

“He’ll be fine.” You glanced up to see Agent May sat in the corner of the room, an unopened book on the table beside her. Less than impressed by your partner, she said, “Simmons only sedated him because he’s a pain in the ass. I’ll tell Coulson you’re awake. He wants to speak to you. Don’t go anywhere.”

It took Coulson a whole seventy three seconds to drop whatever he was doing and race across the plane down to the medical bay. Of course, he completely denied running, even going so far to claim that he’d been in the next room across and had to finish his conversation before coming to see you. The sweat on his forehead and shortness of breath gave it away, though.

He pulled up a chair and sat beside your bed, concern radiating from him. For a second, it warmed your heart to know that he cared for you so deeply, even after years of infrequent contact, but that soon gave way to the gnawing guilt in your chest. Would he care so much when he knew the truth?

“I told you to be careful, Y/N.”

“I tried.”

“Not hard enough,” he reprimanded you. He looked you over, grimacing at the state you were in. A thick brace now surrounded your knee, holding it in place and designed to keep the weight off as the shattered bone healed. Your bed gown was red with dried blood where you’d aggravated your wounds in your sleep. Although able to guess the answer, he asked anyway, “How are you feeling?”

“Been better. Although,” you said, reaching up and tapping the drip bag to which you were attached. “These drugs are amazing. Your team must get injured a lot if you keep this on stuff onboard.”

Phil peered over to read what was in the solutions Simmons had prepared for you and smiled. “That’s the stuff for lightweights. You should try out some of our other drugs. They’re amazing, although we generally only use them when people lose limbs.”

“That happens often?’

“More than we’d like.”

You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not and were definitely not in the right state of mind to pursue that avenue further. Pushing yourself upright, you groaned at the effort and Phil immediately stood to help you. He grabbed you another pillow and propped it up to support you, not so subtly checking whether you’d pulled any more stitches in the process. Thankfully you hadn’t.

Still, your abdomen hurt like a bitch.

“How bad is it?” You asked.

Never one to lie, Phil answered, “You’ll have a scar but Simmons is the best.”

Although you were relieve to hear it, that wasn’t what you’d been asking and he knew it. “No, I meant the mission, Phil. The Syndicate.”

“Maya was apprehended a few hours after you were taken. Between your hard drives - Daisy grabbed everything before the base collapsed - and Claudia Cutterman’s testimony, there’s enough evidence to bring her and the others down. You did good, Y/N.”

“But…”

“Fury wants to see you to debrief next week once you’ve been discharged.”

That could only be bad news if Fury wanted a personal explanation. Phil confirmed as much: “He’ll want to know everything about these people and what they had you do. What will you tell him?”

You glanced over at Clint and sighed. If you lied to the Director, there was every chance that you’d bring Clint down with you and you couldn’t risk that. As you’d told him before, you’d make peace with accepting the consequences to your actions no matter how bad. Even if it meant going to prison and never seeing him again.

If he was free then it would be worth it.

“The truth.”

Phil frowned and you suddenly wondered whether he knew more than he was letting on. You wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he did - although you were curious whether the information had come from Clint or if he’d realised on his own - but then why was he being so kind? Why act as if nothing had changed?

“Everyone makes mistakes, Y/N. People make bad choices. You made some good ones, too.” Phil said, almost reading your thoughts. “Trust isn’t easy to repair but it can be done.”

“I am sorry, Phil.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if I did, I’d forgive you. I’ll let you get some rest,” he said, a gentleness in his eyes as he stood to leave. Pausing at the door, Phil glanced over to Clint and shook his head, muttering something about your partner being an idiot in love. His attention returning to you, Phil grew momentarily serious, the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Are you sure you want to tell Fury the truth?”

“Yeah, actually. I do. As you said, trust isn’t easy to repair but I’m hoping the truth might be a good place to start.”

“And if it isn’t?

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”


	64. August 15th

“Sit,” Fury commanded in such a harsh tone that you weren’t sure whether drop right there or scramble for the nearest chair. You followed Clint’s example and sat on the chair opposite the Director and looked down at your lap, unable to meet Fury’s eye. “You two are a real pain in my ass. Just once, I’d like to get a call about you that doesn’t make me want to bash your heads in. But it looks like someone beat me to it.”

“I’ve got a hard head. I’m sure it could take a little more bashing,” Clint said, carefully watching the Director for any sign of how this meeting was going to go.

“You certainly have a thick skull, that’s for sure. Who were they then?”

“Department Thirty-One,” you answered.

Fury scowled, the name obviously ringing a bell. However, he didn’t say anything which made you question whether he actually knew more about them than their name. Roscoe had certainly done a good job covering his tracks if even Fury didn’t have more than a shadow to chase.

Without needing to be told, the heavy silence a clear enough indication that Fury expected you to tell him everything you knew, you shared all the information you had on Department 31’s techniques for gathering information and which organisations they were targeting. SHIELD. The Syndicate. Homeland Security. Every gang or agency worth their salt.

Leaning forward, hands clasped firmly together on the desk in front of him, Fury stared you down in that patented way which made you feel like a naughty child called before the headmaster. “How do you know this, Agent?”

“Y/N was forced to assist them while we were captured. She found records and reports of their operations on their servers.:”

“Is this true, Agent?”

Your gaze shifted between Clint and Fury as you weighed up your answer. You’d come in to this prepared to tell the truth and admit what you had done. What Clint was spinning wasn’t a lie. Roscoe did coerce you into working with him at the base and you had found records like the ones Clint was describing. However, you weren’t sure how to navigate the fact that it wasn’t the entire truth either.

Slowly enough to alert the Director to the fact there was definitely more to the story than Clint was letting on, you answered, “Yes, Sir. Roscoe gave me no choice but to assist him at the base.”

“And before this, you’d never met this man?”

“No, Sir.” Not face to face.

Fury sat up straight, his attention solely on you now. You’d always known he was a dangerous man to cross but now you were beginning to understand why. He had no weapon. He didn’t raise his voice. Yet one wrong step would be all it took for him to end you instantly. “You’re sure?”

“Sir?”

“He claimed that you have.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Clint cut you off. Beneath the edge of the desk, fast enough that Fury would not see, he signed, Stop talking. At the same time, he said, “Roscoe is pissed that Y/N outwitted him and got a message to the Zephyr without him realising.”

“So he’s lying?”

“He’s a spy, Nick. It’s what we do.”

Fury scoffed but didn’t try to deny it. However that amusement was short lived and his serious mask snapped back into place. “His claims checked out. Your private clearance codes were used on multiple occasions to access and transfer sensitive documents. Care to explain that?”

“Y/N found a virus on our private server in the house. She thinks that when the Cuttermans’ car was stolen and we were out chasing it that Department Thirty-One used the opportunity to break into our home and install the software.”

You had to give Clint credit; it was an exceptional tale. What made it even more convincing was that it was entirely plausible and not actually that far from the truth. You’d known since not long after the event that Roscoe had in fact been responsible for stealing Claudia’s car and his men had broken in to your home. However, all they’d left behind was a drive with some instructions for you.

Fury’s gaze darkened, his disbelief almost tangible. “Why did you not report it at the time?”

“Roscoe’s team developed these viruses to be nearly undetectable. Once found, they vanish without a trace and it would have been my word against the evidence,” you said. “It wouldn’t have looked good.”

You could tell from the Director’s expression that it wasn’t looking all that good for you now. “What about your friend from the sex club?”

“Dungeon,” you and Clint corrected in unison. “Sex dungeon.”

Under Fury’s glare, the humour of the moment evaporated. “Sorry. Elsie…” For a dreadful moment, you couldn’t recall which alias your friend had been using for her official life. Not only did it make you a terrible friend and a pitiful agent, it was about to cost you everything too.

However, in a flash of inspiration, her latest name jumped out at you. “Agent Gray was helping me with the case. She worked at Homeland and we’ve been friends since childhood.”

“How sweet.”

“I asked her to look into the Syndicate and she stumbled upon a file which linked her back to Department 31. Elsie was smart; from that, she managed to see what wasn’t there and find the pattern to fill in the gaps. It’s all on the card on my key ring. Names of their operatives and active cases across the government. I kept the information off the hard drives because I didn’t know who to trust.”

“I know the feeling.” The silence stretched between you long enough that you began to wonder whether the meeting was over and this was Fury’s way of making you leave. However just as you shifted in your chair, he said, “We will be going through this report and your evidence with a fine tooth comb. If anything doesn’t add up -“

“It will,” Clint said. “We were very thorough.”

Fury scowled again, making you wonder if it was his default expression when it came to you. “I’m sure. L/N, collect your personal items and report tomorrow for your next assignment. Barton, I want a word.”

You spared Clint a final glance, all too brief to put across all the things you wanted to say, before heading down to get your things. The low level agent shoved a box across the counter, more interested in the game on the radio than gawking at your impressive spread of injuries like every other person in the building had today.

Digging through the collection, your chest began to grow tight. Your laptop was broken beyond repair; it was nothing more than a piece of worthless junk now. There were a few boxes of clothes that had been recovered from the house and a picture of you and Clint together, taken during the holiday that had changed everything.

As you turned to leave, the young man said, “The ring, Agent L/N?”

“Oh, of course.” You twisted the golden band from your finger and dropped it in the small box on the side. You felt naked without the ring, like you’d lost a part of yourself. You rubbed hard at the indentation hoping to remove the reminder of the life you could no longer have but it did no good.

Taking your new ID badge - still Level 4, for now - you walked aimlessly through HQ until you ended up in the canteen. At some point you bought yourself a sandwich but you weren’t hungry and ended up just picking crumbs off the end. The few bites you took tasted like ash on your tongue.

The chair opposite you scraped against the floor as someone drew it back. You didn’t look around, just continued to stare blankly at the wall ahead, and mumbled, “I’m fine.”

“Clearly. Can I have your sandwich?”

“Sure. There’s tomatoes in it, by the way.”

“Ugh, tomatoes,” Clint grumbled, opening the sandwich up and unceremoniously tossing them aside. “Fury asked about you.”

“What did you tell him?”

Mouth full, Clint said plainly, “The truth.”

You dropped your head into your hands, clawing your fingers down your face. “I guess there’s a guard waiting to take me to a SHIELD facility then.”

“I told him that you were a dedicated agent and Roscoe coerced you into doing what he wanted while you were vulnerable. I said that you were willing to risk everything to save me and SHIELD was lucky to have you.”

Peeking out from beneath your fingers, you asked, “And the rest?”

“As far as Fury is aware, you never worked for Department Thirty-One before our capture and only did so because you were protecting our lives. You only became aware of their existence at the same time as me.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Is it?”

“You know it is.”

Clint set the sandwich down on the plate, opting to hide behind picking at the loose skin around his nail beds instead. Softly, despite there being no one around to overhear, he said, “I won’t let you go to prison, Y/N.”

“And I won’t let you lie for me!”

“Too late.” He looked up and met your gaze, a fire burning in his eyes. It was easier to believe it was anger than passion but the truth was undeniable. “I already submitted my report. You getting shot helps prove the theory you weren’t on their side. Just let it go.”

“I’m leaving,” you blurted out.

“What?”

“SHIELD. I’m leaving SHIELD. I can’t stay here after what I’ve done.”

“You’re running away?”

“Not exactly. I… I’m leaving before anyone else gets hurt by the fallout of my mistakes.”

“You have a chance to fix your mistakes, to atone, and you’re just going to run because you’re scared of what people might stay if you stick around?”

“You know I appreciate what you’ve done for me, what you’ve risked, but that doesn’t give you the right to judge me.” You grabbed you box of belongings from beneath the table and balanced it on your hip, stretching a hand out to your partner. Ex-partner. “Goodbye, Clint.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to go like this…”

“Maybe it’s for the best. Good luck on your next mission, Agent Barton.”

Clint stood and shook your hand, his fingers lingering before eventually falling back to his side. “You too, Agent. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

You all but ran out the canteen, out of the building entirely, desperate to get away from Clint before your heart shattered entirely. You only just made it to the taxi cab before you broke down completely.


	65. August 21st

A sharp knock on the door had you reaching beneath the sofa, fumbling for your knife. Very quietly, Elsie moved towards the monitor to check who it was. She glanced at the feed and signed, _definitely dangerous._ You checked the image yourself, agreeing with her assessment, at the same time a familiar voice called from outside.

“I know you’re in there, Y/N.”

 _Stay hidden,_ you told Elsie. _She doesn’t need to know you’re here._

“If she found us, she already knows,” she muttered, returning to the kitchen to continue preparing her sandwich. However, beneath your stern glare, Elsie threw her hands in the air and said, “Fine! Fine, I’m leaving. Look at me, leaving. Try not to make too much noise and remember we eat on that couch. Keep the fun times to your bed.”

You shoved Elsie towards the bedroom, shaking your head. She was the absolute worst but you wouldn’t be without her. Slowly moving towards the door, adjusting your grip on the handle of your knife as it slipped from your sweaty palm, you opened it only enough to see her above the bolt. “Why are you here, Natasha?”

“I could ask you the same. You are just as beautiful as I remember, you know. I’m sure you were more friendly before, though.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m not here to bring you in,” she assured you. “Or your friend.”

“Who else knows you are here?”

“No one. I’m off the grid.”

After a long moment of consideration, you let out a sigh and unbolted the many locks on the door to let her in. Her green eyes lingered on your blade as you slipped it into your belt before inviting her into the apartment.

It was only small, sparse yet somehow still homely. Almost all of the furniture had come from second hand shops but there were a few pieces of beautiful art on the wall and every surface was adorned with at least one photograph or ornament from Elsie’s many travels.

She’d been living here since she ran from the Department 31 brutes a few months ago but was already preparing a new, more permanent move to Germany of all places. It turned out that Roscoe was not the only enemy Elsie had made during her in-depth exploration of Homeland Security’s files and she needed to get out of the country for good.

As such, the already barren apartment was looking emptier than usual. There were brown boxes piled up against the walls, each with a different forwarding address so that she wouldn’t be traced. At least, that was the hope.

Taking in every detail, Natasha perched herself on the arm of the sofa and asked, “Going somewhere nice?”

“Somewhere quiet. Far away from here.”

Natasha slid down onto the sofa cushions and stretched out, motioning you over to join her. She laughed when you didn’t move, not so much as a muscle twitching from your spot against the exposed brick wall. “Worth a try. You’re so tense, I just wanted to make you feel better.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. You don’t need to worry, Y/N. I’m here on personal business.”

“You missed me that much?”

“Not as much as _he_ is missing you.”

You turned away, focusing your gaze out the window. It was dark outside, the only light coming from the trash can fires on the corner of the road. Even with the lack of illumination, you still had a good view down the street. It was why Elsie had chosen this building in the first place. There was only one way in and you could only get to it by coming up the street and stepping straight into the line of view.

Watching two young kids messing around in the shadows, clearly high and thinking they could climb the walls like Spiderman, you said, “I can’t go back, Nat.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve read the report.”

“And I know what didn’t make in there too. Y/N, in this life there is always more going on than we either admit or are told. Betrayal is just a part of the game.”

“My actions, my involvement with them, nearly got him killed.”

“That’s not why you’re here though,” Natasha said, confident that she was correct. She didn’t sound smug about knowing your mind, simply certain (and a little offended) that she understood better than you gave her credit for. “You know Clint. He’s an idiot when it comes to pushing on through pain and I assure you that was definitely not the worst beating he’s ever had. What did he say to you?”

“He said he’d never trust me again.” The memory of that moment was burned into your mind’s eye. Everything from the cold concrete floor against your legs to the loose strands of hair which had hung in front of his eyes, hiding the pain. The complete look of betrayal on Clint’s face, the coldness of his voice. Yes, he loved you but what was that without trust?

Natasha shifted on the sofa, her entire body softening as she met your gaze in the reflection of the window. Her green eyes bearing into you with such intensity as if she were forcing you to change your mind, she said gently, “He was angry. He didn’t mean it.”

“Certainly sounded like he did.”

“Clint says a lot of stupid things he later regrets. You know, I’ve betrayed him more times than I can remember - and he’s returned the favour at least a dozen times - but we’re still friends. We’re spies. We get over it. Our trust is always broken but our hearts? We guard those very carefully. Clint opened his to you -“

“And I broke it.”

“No, you didn’t, Y/N. The only way you’ll do that is if you go with your friend and vanish from his life forever. He loves you and it you leave it will destroy him.”

You would never have imagined that the infamous Black Widow would be so soft beneath that rough exterior. However it was clear that she absolutely adored Clint and would do anything for her friend, a fact which only seemed to make you feel even more guilty for staying away. “Natasha…”

“I’m serious. I’ve known Clint a long time. He wants you to come back but is too afraid to reach out and ask you himself.”

“Why?”

“He knows your answer will be no.”

Drawing your fingers through your hair, you asked again, “Why are you here, Natasha?”

“To bring you back. I thought that was obvious.”

“You won’t change my mind.”

“No, I didn’t think I would. But she will.”

You turned around in confusion to find Elsie hovering in the doorway. You couldn’t say how long she’d been listening to your conversation but she’d clearly heard more than her fair share. A soft smile on her face, she crossed the room and met you halfway by the kitchen counter. Brushing her fingers across your cheek, she said, “This was never going to permanent. You weren’t going to come with me.”

“Of course I was.”

“You don’t have an obligation to protect me, dear. You took down the Syndicate and Department Thirty-One. My other problems are all on me. I don’t want you to waste your life running with me when you have the chance at happiness with Barton.”

“Els…”

“You deserve a life with the man you love, Y/N. I have never seen you so happy than when you think about Clint. Those feelings won’t go away because you run to another continent with me.”

“I can’t go back.”

“Why? Because you lied? What do you think it is we do for a living, darling?” Elsie asked, reiterating Natasha’s earlier point. “I know your regret isn’t for lying to SHIELD. Hell, we all know their system gets hacked all the time by people far worse than you. This is what? The fifth time some other group or agency has been running a ring under their noses?”

She glanced over to Natasha who just shrugged. “Weird shit happens a lot. We’ve all pretty much stopped questioning it.”

Turning back to you, Elsie took your hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. “I know you, Y/N. There is only one person you’re upset about breaking their trust and it sounds like he’s over it. He just wants you home and I can’t blame him.”

“You know we weren’t really married, right?”

“I call bullshit on that,” Natasha said.

Elsie was quick to agree. “Seconded.”

Not above pleading to get your point across, well aware that you were on the losing side of the argument, you said, “I just _can’t_.”

“Yes you can and you will. I’m sorry, dear. I love you but I forbid you to come with me. You are going back with this gorgeous woman - hi, by the way - and you’re going to talk it out with Clint. I’m putting my foot down and I’ll get the whip out the box if necessary.”

Natasha perked up at that, looking Elsie over with excitement. “I like you.”

Your friend smirked but kept her attention solely on you. She grabbed your handbag from the coffee table (also swooping up your cup of tepid coffee in the process; she claimed it was in the name of stopping it from falling from the wobbly table but you knew otherwise) and shoved it against your chest.

“You’re going back with her, Y/N, and if I’m not invited to the wedding I will hunt you down.” She used you into a tight embrace, ignoring your squeal at the sudden pressure on your side, claiming it was only a little bullet wound and you were being far too dramatic. Elsie pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “He loves you. You love him. The rest will sort itself out in the end. I promise.”


	66. August 28th

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come.

“So was I,” you muttered, taking a seat opposite Clint in the small circular booth. You’d barely sat down when a waitress came over and placed a cup of tea and a slice of coffee and walnut cake in front of you.

Clint rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, shifting in his seat as though he thought you were going to be angry at him for this. “I ordered for you when I got here. They’ve been giving me sad looks every time I told them to wait for you to arrive. Pretty sure they pitied me so much that they wiped the bill.”

“Thank you, Clint.”

“No, thank _you_ for saving my wallet.” Clint’s lips turned up in a small smile, laughing at his own stupid joke, before fading away just as quickly. He looked you over far less subtly than he’d intended, assessing the way your injuries were healing.

Slowly, was the answer. You were no longer in pain - save for the bullet hole in your side and the broken knee, of course - but you still looked a little battered around the edges. Your skin still showed the telltale signs of bruising, everything from deep purple to yellow patches still covering your body, and a few cuts had yet to lose their scabs.

Despite that, though, you managed to project an air of being put together. Of coping. Alone. Without him. It was funny what a little makeup and a new jacket could do. They helped you play the part of someone who was absolutely not permanently on the verge of tears. Someone who had accepted their lot and was living despite it all.

You played it so well that almost everyone believed it. Even you believed it sometimes. However, being back here with Clint in a slightly shitty cafe eating cake and drinking tea like nothing had changed made it so much harder to hold the facade.

Running his fingers through his messy hair - far messier than normal, you noted with an annoying amount of concern for his mental state - Clint asked gently, “So… How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. Good. Great, even.” You stopped yourself before you said anything even more stupid. Taking a small bite of the cake, which was not as good as Clint’s by a long shot, you asked, “What about you?”

“Fine… Ah, screw it,” he groaned a moment later. Pushing the cake aside, Clint leant forward and reached out to take your hand but stopped at the very last second. He pulled back slightly, giving you the space he thought you wanted, and gripped the table so hard you could see it bending beneath his fingers. “The last two weeks have sucked. Honestly the four before that weren’t all that awesome either but at least you were around. I miss you, sugar.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you whispered, the admission making you both smile.

The conversation stalled somewhat so you sat in silence - not entirely uncomfortable thanks to the natural comfort you both took in simply being around one another again - and picked at your cake. You chose the exact same moment to start talking and with an awkward laugh you gestured for him to speak first.

“I spoke to Fury yesterday. You’re clear of all implications regarding Department Thirty-One. Roscoe is being dealt with; they sent him to some prison in the middle of nowhere so he won’t be a problem ever again.”

An unexpected weight lifted from your shoulders. You’d known that Roscoe would be locked away but hearing confirmation of the fact somehow made it real. You were finally free from his influence.

Clint pulled the cake towards him, stole your fork and began scraping the icing from the top. Grumbling that it wasn’t sweet enough, he continued, “Nick wants to know when you’re coming back, too. Technically your paid holiday ended last week and he wants you back on the job. You were meant to go pick up your new assignment already.”

“Was too scared too, wasn’t I? I can’t exactly imagine that he’d let me near any confidential information again and I refuse to go back to making coffee for techs that I could code circles around.”

“Lucky for you that Coulson needs new hands on the Zephyr, then.”

Phil had actually contacted you this morning to mention that. Half of you feared that he was only offering it you so that he could keep an eye on your activities and make sure that you didn’t do anything to betray SHIELD again but the rest of you knew better.

He’d pitched a position that you couldn’t really refuse; a part on the team working both in and out of the field, taking on missions as well as helping Daisy to tighten up some of the systems on the Zephyr. It was everything you wanted as well as being surrounded by a group of people to whom you owed your life, people you hoped to one day call friends.

You had told Coulson that you needed a few days to consider it but you both knew your answer would be a solid yes. He’d already gotten you a new ID card and sent for your things to be brought on board at your earliest convenience.

Stealing back your cake, picking at the icing left in the centre of the cake, the both of you having unanimously decided the sponge was not worth eating, you asked, “What about you? Figured you’d be out with the Avengers. Saw them on the news yesterday. I looked for you and you weren’t there. Thought you’d gotten hurt.”

“Well, actually, I’ve been thinking about retiring. Took a step back from active duty when we returned since I’m technically not healed yet and kinda thought that I just wouldn’t go back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” A smile crossed his face, the soft genuine kind. “Found this nice house - it’s about as far away from suburbia as you can get - and was thinking of taking it easy. Setting down roots, you know? Somewhere peaceful where I can just be away from everything.”

“Sounds nice, Clint. You deserve it.”

Clint shuffled around the booth a little, finding the courage to actually take your hand this time. He ran his fingers over your knuckles, goosebumps erupting across your skin at the familiar touch. “You do too, Y/N.”

“Couldn’t afford that kind of life even if I agreed with you.”

“Well, mine is plenty big enough for two people.”

Your mind stalled at his comment. You tried desperately not to get your hopes up, not to read too far into what was probably nothing more than a polite but insincere offer. Still, a warmth spread through your body at the idea of what he was proposing and you couldn’t hide the smile on your lips. “I’d love to come visit sometime.”

“I was thinking something a little more permanent. If you wanted. We’d have to set some ground rules down, though.”

Your mind flashed back to your very first meeting, almost a year ago now, and your smile grew to a dazzling grin. “Only real coffee. None of that awful stuff without caffeine.”

“Ah, a woman with good tastes,” he said, shuffling round the table a little further. The sharp scent of your tea made his nose wrinkle. “Not that I’d have known seeing how you drink this awful fruity stuff. You know it tastes like soap.”

“So I’ve heard. What about sleeping arrangements?”

“Well, there’s only one bed so we’d have to share.” Clint slid closer again, your thighs almost touching now. His arm was stretched out across the top of the seat behind your shoulders, his fingers sending sparks through your body as he ‘accidentally’ brushed your skin.

Hand over mouth, you pretended to be outraged at the suggestion. However your feigned innocence lost most of its credibility as you trailed patterns higher and higher up his thighs beneath the table. “No space on the floor?”

“I couldn’t have that,” Clint insisted. “What would the neighbours think if they saw that?”

“You have many neighbours?”

“No, the cabin is surrounded by almost an acre of land in every direction but you know how much owls and deer like to gossip.”

You stifled a laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck to hide your giggles. After the last set of neighbours you’d suffered through together, you were fairly certain that you could survive anything. The idea of Clint coming to blows with the local woodland creatures was certainly an image you wanted to savour.

Pulling back, you let out a comfortable sigh as he played with a few strands of your hair, lightly scratching the back of your skull. You’d have closed your eyes to savour the feeling but were too scared that if you did this would all disappear and prove to be nothing more than a beautiful dream.

So, instead, you closed the tiny gap between you and Clint and laced your fingers with his. “Of course. So sharing a bed is a must, then.”

“Oh, absolutely. But I promise I’ll be a real gentleman.”

“Not too much, I hope,” you muttered, leaning in for a kiss. Your lips hovered above his, Clint’s warm breath tickling your skin before you finally closed the gap. The kiss was soft, a little hesitant but overflowing with emotion. There was no doubt in your mind that this was how things were meant to be between you. You had never felt so connected to another person before and never would again.

Clint was your home. Nothing would ever change that fact.

Melting into his touch, a surprised gasp escaped your mouth as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. You straddled his hips, moaning quietly as his hands slipped beneath your t-shirt, splaying across the small of the back. Clint caught your bottom lip between his teeth and nipped at the sensitive skin, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss further.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your fingers through the tangled blonde strands, tugging on the shorter hairs at the back. Clint arched his body beneath yours, his breathing growing shallow as you clawed your fingers down his back.

From across the cafe, you heard the sound of excited cheers and glanced over to see your waitress and two other waiters coming out the kitchen, whooping for you and Clint. They had zero shame and only waved their hands in the air higher when you spun around to glare at them.

Hiding your burning face from your over enthusiastic audience, you traced the lines of his face and whispered, “We’re okay, right?”

“I’d say we’re more than okay, wouldn’t you, sugar?”

“After what I did, though…”

“I’m not saying I’ve completely forgiven you yet,” he replied honestly. “But give it time and I’ll get there eventually. All I know is I can’t be without you for a day longer, Y/N. I love you. Everything else we can sort later.”

“God, I love you too, Clint.”

He brushed his lips against yours once more before lifting you off his lap and nodding at an old woman across the cafe who had been giving you evil eyes for the past five minutes. Taking your hand, Clint pulled you from the booth and whispered, “Let’s take this somewhere else before she pries us apart with her cane.”

“I think we could take her.”

Clint wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you protectively against his side as you walked past the white haired devil. He waited until you were out of her earshot before he asked, “Have you ever seen a little old lady fight? They’re vicious.”

“Why do I feel like you have first hand experience in that department, honey?”

“Well, this one time when I was out in Jersey…”


	67. Epilogue - 1 Year Later

“Clint, dinner is on the table. Get your ass in here before it goes cold.”

Two seconds later, Clint slid into the kitchen looking like a Bear Grylls wannabe. His jeans were coated in a thick layer of mud. Leaves, green with the slightest hint of red on the edges as autumn drew nearer, were sticking out his hair and twigs fell from the pockets of his jacket - which now seemed to have even more tears than it had before he’d left this afternoon.

You held your hand up to stop him traipsing mud over your clean kitchen, instead crossing the room yourself to help separate him from the forest he’d brought inside. Plucking a leaf from behind his ear, you raised an eyebrow and said, “I thought you were out shooting, not playing Robin Hood, running through the trees like a hooligan.”

“I was. Then a dog stole my favourite arrow so I chased him through the woods into his lair.”

Struggling to keep a straight face, you unzipped his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. “Dogs don’t have lairs, honey.”

“Evil dogs have lairs. This one did, too.”

“You brought an evil dog into our home?”

“No, he’s a sweetheart really. Anyway, back to the story. I fought him for the prize - my arrow, come on, sugar, keep up - and valiantly lost. So, I took his bone and he followed me home, arrow in mouth in the way back.”

“What I’m hearing is that you adopted another dog.”

He crouched down and rubbed the golden retriever behind the ears until it finally let the arrow drop from his tightly shut jaw. Clint stretched out his arm to hand you the slobbery arrow but changed his mind when you threatened him with a glare that said all too clearly, if you come near me with that thing then you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.

Wiping it dry on his filthy trousers, he dropped it into the quiver by the door and smiled sweetly at you. “I think he adopted me actually.”

“Clint,” you sighed, recognising a losing argument when you saw one. It didn’t matter what you said, this dog was already a part of your family now. The dirty pup had taken one look at Clint and seen a common soul in need of love and there would be no getting rid of him now. Still, you tried to be logical with your argument. “We’re already feeding six.”

“Brings it to a lucky seven, then. Hey!” He exclaimed, all too excitedly. “That can be his name. Lucky.”

Unable to say no to those big puppy dog eyes, Lucky looking extremely cute at Clint’s feet too, you shook your head and admitted defeat. “I’ll go into town tomorrow and buy some more supplies for him. But you’re in charge of keeping him clean and fed.”

“No big. I can manage that.”

You kissed him on the cheek, wiping the dirt from your lips with the back of your hand. “If only you could learn to clean and feed yourself too.”

“But then what would you do?”

Shoving him away, biting back a laugh as he almost tripped over the newest member of your family, you grabbed the spoon from the pot on the stove and waved it at Clint admonishingly. “You’re lucky you’ve got a nice face because the rest of you sucks.”

“Not all of me,” he said, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you against his body. Cheekily rolling his hips against yours, he pressed a kiss to your lips and hummed in pleasure as you carded your fingers through his hair.

“I suppose there are a few other small benefits.”

It was Clint’s turn to push you away. Utterly offended by your insinuation, he plucked the spoon from your hand and poked you in the shoulder with it. “Small?!”

“Perfectly sized,” you corrected, stealing the dirty spoon back once more and tossing it aside before it could become a weapon of war. Catching his hand, you pulled him down to the table and appealed to the one constant side of Clint: his stomach. “Come on, dinner’s getting cold.”

Perking up considerably as he properly took in the spread on the table, he asked, “You made fish tacos? What’s the occasion?”

“Well, unlike some people, I still have to work for a living -“

He held his finger in the air and wagged it in an utterly ridiculous manner. “Nah-ah. You choose. Difference. We could live off my retirement fund if you weren’t so determined to right the world.”

“Whatever. Like you didn’t used to be exactly the same way.” He certainly couldn’t argue that point, so just took a large bite of his taco (basically stuffing the entire thing into his mouth) and waved for you to continue. “I leave for Zephyr One in the morning and next week is the two year anniversary since I first wanted to kill you so we’re celebrating it tonight instead.”

“Aw, honey, you’re such a romantic. I actually knew that, too,” he said. Catching the look of confusion on your face, he clarified, “Not you wanting to kill me, although looking back it probably wasn’t my best first impression with a woman. What I mean is I knew that it’s two years since the day we met and I gave you a ring -“

“After you whacked me in the boob.”

“You’re missing the point, honey. I gave you a ring.”

Understanding dawned on you and you felt your heart swell in your chest. “Clint…”

“Shh. You’re gonna make me forget where I am. I practised this. Lucky approved, didn’t you boy?” Clint reached down beneath the table where the dog was eating the crumbs which fell from his overstuffed tacos. You were going to have to keep an eye on him. You had a feeling that he was basically Clint in animal form and would be liable to eat anything and everything you left laying around.

Shaking your head at the visible bond between them, you said, “You only met him an hour ago. How are you best buds already?”

“Because he’s such a good boy, aren’t you?” Kneeling down on the floor, Clint smushed Lucky’s face between his hands, scratching the dog behind the ear in a way that made him growled contently. “See, I’ve practised with all the dogs and I thought they were lying to get me to stop talking and just feed them so I needed a fresh pair of floppy ears. We had plenty of time on the way home to get to know each other better and he told me everything I needed to hear.”

“You two wanna be left alone?”

Clint’s cheeks glowed a soft pink and he sat up straight, narrowly avoiding banging his head on the table. Lucky padded around him a few times before setting himself right at Clint’s feet, nuzzling his slightly damp sock like it was the best thing in the world.

A little lost in his speech, Clint met your gaze and asked, “Where was I?”

You rest your chin on your fist, looking down on the man you loved with amusement. “You gave me a ring.”

“Right. Yes. I gave you a ring and committed to dealing with your annoying - but beautiful - ass for a year.”

“Charming,” you huffed.

“I said beautiful. Anyway, I thought it would be the worst year of my life because let’s be honest you weren’t exactly very friendly to me and I was convinced that living with you would be like being stuck with a crazy monster from Hell.”

“You’re not making it better.”

“I’m getting to the good bit, hang on.” Clint only continued when he saw you smile, the anxious lines around his eyes vanishing as he basked in your loving gaze. “I’m happy to say that I was wrong and now living here with you is everything I could have hoped for and I love you so damn much.”

You bent down and kissed him softly, your lips brushing against his as you muttered, “I love you too, Clint.”

“That’s good, real good, because I kinda hoped… Well…” He pulled a ring from his pocket and fiddled with the golden band. Upon closer inspection, you realised that it was shaped as an arrow, the feathers at the end made of silver and the head made of diamond. You’d never seen anything so beautiful.

Taking ahold of your hand, Clint looked you dead in the eye and said, “You were Mrs Jones for so long and I was hoping now you’d want to be Mrs Barton.”

“Oh, Clint. It’s beautiful.”

“That’s a yes, right?”

“Yes. Yes! Yes, you gorgeous, ridiculous man. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Thank god.” He slipped the band on your finger, pressed a kiss to your lips, soft, sweet and overflowing with love for you. When you broke apart, Clint reached down to rub Lucky’s head again. “Guess you’re a good luck charm after all.”

Admiring the ring, you glanced at Clint and asked, “You really thought I wouldn’t say yes?”

“I wouldn’t have really blamed you,” he admitted. “If you hadn’t noticed, sugar, I’m a bit of a mess.”

“It’s true. You are a mess but you’re my mess. Plus I don’t exactly have a perfect past either. Anyway, it’s the future that matters and there is no one I’d rather spend it with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to sincerely thank every single person who has stuck with this fic. It's been a long year for me and for these two and no doubt for you too but I hope that this story has given you moments of joy and you've enjoyed the journey as much as I have.
> 
> Thank you so much.


End file.
